


Across a Wilde Sea

by blackmoonalcolyte (jomipay), makesometime



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: All of the romance novel things, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Branding, Butt Plugs, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Eating, Dom Zolf Smith, Dom/sub Undertones, Fantasizing, Gags, Identity Reveal, Imprisonment, M/M, Massage, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Pirate! Zolf, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Restraints, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex-Favorable Zolf Smith, Shibari, Switching, Zolf to the rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/pseuds/blackmoonalcolyte, https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: The dwarf peers down at him. “You’ve the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” Oscar rasps.The pirate's mouth does a funny little frown and a crease appears between his eyebrows as he scrunches his face.“Think he might be worse than I thought.” He says over Oscar’s head, in the direction of the pale woman.“And what are we doing with him?”The pirate scoops Oscar’s legs out from under him and hoists him up into a bridal carry. Oscar can see the inviting expanse of white chest hair peeking through the wide V of his shirt and indulges in his addled mind's desire to rub his face against it.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 67
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Zoscar pirate au and I asked makesometime if she wanted to help me write it and I’ve been having so much fun doing this with her.

A crack of thunder startles Oscar awake and he lurches sideways. He yelps as all the slack is pulled out of the rope connecting his bound wrists to the wall and it rubs painfully over the wounds underneath. He’s been tied up now for a week and while he’s certainly been in worse situations, the situation preceding his current predicament being a frontrunner, it is certainly not ideal. The ship rocks back and forth through the churning waters and Oscar struggles to keep himself balanced enough to not be thrown painfully around in his position on the floor of the cell. He sighs, resigned to not being able to fall back to sleep tonight, not until the storm passes. He can hear the shouts of the crew members above decks dealing with the storm. The ship rises as it crests a large wave and his back is pressed into the wall before he is thrown forward again as the ship slams back down. His pained cry is muffled by the gag in his mouth.

Being thrown around by the roiling waters has opened some of the wounds on his back and he can feel fluid dripping down his skin. It hurts, but his whole body aches, so it’s nothing of particular note, not when his muscles are stiff with the way he’s been forced to sleep tied to the wall, when his wrists are raw and throbbing under the rough rope binding them too tightly together. The creaking of the ship as it strains against the whipping winds of the storm and the pounding of the rain as it splatters on the deck above helps to distract him from his discomfort. He likes the sound of the rain usually, finds the repetitive rhythm and inevitability of it soothing. There are leaks in the floor above him and the rainwater that finds its way into his cell is cold enough to make him shiver and curl in on himself.

He’s alive. It’s more than he would be able to say if he was still stuck in meritocratic custody. Escape had not been easy. He’d burned through all of his spells and energy in the process and he had not made it through unscathed. He had wounds from when he’d been captured that he’d never gotten the chance to heal, gashes on his back and bruises on his ribs from being beaten for information. There were also the wounds he’d sustained in his escape, when he’d failed to entirely evade the swing of a sword or slashs of a dagger, marks of varying severity in weeping lines criss crossing his arms that he’d been too tired to deal with. And then there were the wounds from the pirates.

It was supposed to be easy, give them a fair bit of coin, tell them not to ask any questions, and get off at the next port. The captain had barely raised an eyebrow at the sorry state he’d shown up in. The amount of coin Oscar was offering probably went a long way towards making the arrangement agreeable. Everything had been fine and then someone had walked in as Oscar was cleaning his wounds, washing one of the cuts in his side, just over his brand. He hadn’t dared use magic while on board, wanting to appear weaker and more vulnerable than he was. It didn’t much matter, in the end. The pirate had locked eyes immediately over the mark in his hip and the hard line of his mouth told Oscar everything he needed to know about the feeling it instilled in the man. The feeling it probably instilled in the rest of the crew. One pirate was easy enough to deal with, but there were only so many places to go aboard a ship in the middle of the ocean, and only so many ways to escape when there was a blade pressed to the delicate skin of your throat. 

Oscar sets his head against the wooden wall of his cell and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t know what the pirates are planning on doing with him, but if he were in their position he’d sell himself back to the highest bidder, which would undoubtedly be the meritocrats. His best opportunity for escape will most likely be upon landfall right before they hand him over, so there is nothing to do now except to endure. The ship rocks violently and Oscar loses his balance yet again. The wounds circling his wrists are weeping, he can see the blood when the flashes of lightning illuminate his pitiful cell. He curls in on himself once again, gritting his teeth and bracing, reminding himself that this is better. It is better than being in custody, waiting for execution. It is better than being tortured by people you used to trust. It is better than being dead.

He does not remember dozing off, but Oscar wakes to sunlight filtering down below decks and relatively calm waters. His eyes ache and his head roils in a way that reminds him unpleasantly of the storm. He’s dehydrated, but there’s nothing he can do about that but bear it. He falls into another fitful sleep that is more a slide into unconsciousness than anything else. He is wrenched to a bleary awareness again an indeterminable amount of time later by a cacophony of splintering wood, the sharp scrape of metal meeting metal, and shouts both familiar and foreign. It should panic him; he knows his current captors plan to keep him alive at least, there is no such guarantee for these invaders. He doesn’t feel anything except tired and a kind of defeat that settles into his bones and encourages his slump into the dirty floor. 

The sounds of the fight overhead ebb and flow until they fade entirely. Heavy footsteps sound on the stairs below decks, getting louder, getting closer. It's dim, but there is enough light for Oscar to make out the shape of a dwarf approaching the bars of his cell with slow and careful steps. There’s blood on his clothes and on the tip of his glaive, a weapon that stands much taller than its wielder. Oscar gets the distinct impression that much of the blood does not belong to the dwarf. He has green eyes that are vibrant enough for Oscar to make out, even in the poor lighting. His hair and plaited beard are both stark white with a few stray specks of blood. The dwarf raises the glaive and bashes the blunt end of it into the lock of the cell, shattering it with enough force to make all the bars shake. At least his death will be quick.

The cell door swings open with a rusty groan and Oscar closes his eyes, waiting for the blow that will kill him to be delivered. A calloused hand reaches out and touches his arm and the warmth of healing washes over him as all of his wounds begin the work of knitting themselves together. Oscar opens his eyes, and is face to face with the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen, and they are full of concern and compassion as he cuts Oscar’s wrists free and passes his hand over them, taking the worst of the pain away. It’s the first kind touch Oscar’s received in at least a month. He could cry with it. He was certain he was about to die and now here is this dwarf, standing before him and helping him to his feet. And it could just be the dehydration talking, but oh is this dwarf devastatingly handsome.

“Can you stand?” 

Oscar finds his voice hoarse from disuse and goes to clear his throat but finds it too dry. He nods his head instead, he thinks he can manage. 

He wobbles when he stands and his saviour steadies him by wrapping an arm around Oscar’s waist. Oscar may be out of it, but he isn’t so out of it that he can’t tell how well muscled the arm around him is. He allows himself to lean into the dwarf’s side and be led above decks. It’s too bright and the sunlight makes his eyes burn and his head pulse unpleasantly with dizziness. He’s so tired, he can feel himself slipping. Every step is an effort, an expenditure of energy he just doesn’t have—even with the strong body next to him keeping him upright. 

The world title suddenly and sharply, the deck suddenly much closer to him than it had been. 

“Oi, wotcher.” Comes a voice that seems to belong to a young woman so pale she can’t possibly be a pirate. She reaches forward in the same moment the arm around his waist tightens and is joined by another strong arm intercepting him before he can smack into the deck and crack his skull open. The face of the pirate blocks out the sun and Oscar finds himself dreamily gazing up into those green eyes. 

Everything sounds too far away, like he’s underwater and the waves are distorting the sound. His vision is blurry, too, perhaps he was thrown overboard and this is his drowning mind’s last hallucination before death. _It’s a good one_ , he thinks as he reaches a hand out to caress the side of the pirate’s face.

“Uhh, Captain?”

The dwarf peers down at him. “You’ve the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” Oscar rasps.

The pirate's mouth does a funny little frown and a crease appears between his eyebrows as he scrunches his face.

“Think he might be worse than I thought.” He says over Oscar’s head, in the direction of the pale woman.

“And what are we doing with him?”

The pirate scoops Oscar’s legs out from under him and hoists him up into a bridal carry. Oscar can see the inviting expanse of white chest hair peeking through the wide V of his shirt and indulges in his addled mind's desire to rub his face against it.

“I’m gonna take him across, get him a proper check. You can handle everything else here, Sasha?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Good.”

Oscar is carried off and over a plank connecting two ships together. He’s apparently being rescued by a well muscled pirate captain with the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen. Either that or his dying mind has provided him with a _very_ nice hallucination. He’s unconscious before he can decide which is more likely.

***

They put him in the holding for lack of anywhere else to give him his own space to recover. The dwarf recognises his hesitation, the way his eyes linger on the heavy steel frame that splits the room into unyielding bars.

“We’ll leave the door open.” He says quietly, “You have the freedom of the ship, once you’re feeling up to it.”

Oscar nods, easing himself down onto the bed that seems to be freshly made and relatively comfortable. There’s even a little side table with a jug of water and a lantern. Clearly they don’t have a huge problem with discipline on this ship, which is more than a little reassuring.

Oscar looks up at the dwarf as he moves to pour out a glass of water and hands it to Oscar with a tight smile.

“So. What’s your name?” The dwarf watches with keen interest as Oscar downs the water in a couple of gulps, quirking an eyebrow. “Another?”

“Please.” Oscar says quickly, and at least he’s a little less croaky now with something to lubricate his throat. He considers quite how honest to be with the dwarf about his identity, but recognises that there’s probably only a slim chance of his name carrying any weight here.

“Wilde.” He says, taking the next drink with a grateful smile. “Oscar Wilde, if we’re being personal.”

He doesn’t react, at least. It would be rotten luck if he’d managed to find himself off of one unfriendly ship and onto another with someone with some unexplained personal vendetta against him.

The dwarf is silent long enough that Oscar leans in, smiling and attempting to inject some of his practiced charm into the expression.

“You know, it’s usually polite to offer your name in return.”

“Captain Zolf Smith.” He pauses to scowl at Oscar, narrowing his eyes, “that’s Captain Smith to you.”

“Oh, of course, _Captain_.” The scowl deepens and Oscar bites back his delight. Oh, this has the potential to be _exceedingly_ fun.

Oscar watches as Zolf pulls up a chair from outside the bars, placing it in the doorway to the cell and taking a seat. He’s clearly a deep thinker, or perhaps just very very good at biding his time, because the silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable before he speaks again.

“What were you doing beaten and starved half to death on that ship anyway?”

Oscar chuckles. “Well I was supposed to be escaping, but that rather got away from me, I think.”

Zolf raises a bushy white brow. “You _think_?”

He wonders if he should feel more ashamed for what happened, but he’s never regretted any of his life choices previously and he’s not about to start now. It brought him here, after all. “I had paid them for safe passage and they turned on me.”

Zolf curses, his face going all dark in a way that’s so differently appealing to how he’d looked in the role of avenging angel, but appealing nonetheless. “Bad manners, that.” 

Oscar clucks his tongue. “I should say so.”

Oscar takes a moment to weigh his options, to consider. He’s safe here, he thinks. Perhaps a hasty ascertainment, but one he feels quite confident in. Zolf seems a man of honor at the very least. It’s likely that he could take the risk...

“I could offer to pay you for safe passage.”

Zolf looks surprised by this. “Where are you needing to go?”

“Anywhere.”

It slips out before he can stop it, a moment of honesty that strikes him almost as much as it strikes Zolf. They sit there staring at each other for a moment. It stretches, but it’s not as uncomfortable as before. He feels seen. 

He’s not sure he dislikes it.

“Well we’re going somewhere. Got a lot of loot to offload at the next friendly port we find. Until then, we’ll make sure you’re back on your feet. Make sure you ask for anything you need, I don’t want to have rescued a martyr.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Get some rest. Dinner’s in two hours. You better show up, or I’ll come get you.”

***  
  
It’s about a week before Oscar truly feels back to himself. The marks on his wrists have faded with the application of a careful dose of daily healing from Captain Smith. He doesn’t dare admit it yet, but the visits of the grumpy pirate are the highlight of every day, though he’s started to be brought meals by Sasha, a quiet woman with a very sharp wit.

It’s been long enough that he’s managed to get over the first flush of a very inconvenient crush on the dwarf. Unfortunately it’s blossomed into a deeper admiration that sits heavy in his chest whenever Zolf lays hands on his wounds. 

Captain Smith didn’t have to show him the kindness that he has so far. He doesn’t have to continue to do so. And yet every day, without fail, he comes and makes awkward conversation as he checks over the marks that Oscar’s previous hosts saw fit to leave him with.

Oscar feels a little weak with it. He wants to know the dwarf better. Wants a reason to make him stick around longer. 

It’ll either kill or cure this whole affliction.

“Mr Smith.” Oscar starts, smiling at the instantaneous scowl that earns him. “My _apologies._ Captain Smith. I will get used to it, I promise, but you must understand it’s been a while since I met a man worthy of the title.”

Zolf mutters to himself, something about _you better bloody get used to it_ but Oscar is too pleased at the little flush that he’s managed to inspire in the dwarf’s cheeks.

“I really would appreciate getting to know my saviour a little better. Find, oh I don’t know, some shared interests to really _bond_ over?”

“You’re not here to bond with me, Wilde. Next time we dock, we’ll get you safely to shore and then you can be on your way and we’ll be on ours.”

He denies the sense of disappointment that swells in him at that thought. It’s only been a few days and these people are very much _not_ his usual social circle. But he doesn’t really know if he has anywhere to go back to, now, and getting on the good side of an apparently kind group of brigands is hardly the worst sort of outcome to his recent escapades.

“Even so…” He continues, acting the part of the foolish fop if only to try and break through a couple more of those pesky emotional barriers. He leans back into the wall of his adopted room, folding his hands over his stomach. “There must be something we can discuss, once our initial reserves of conversational topics run dry. Music, perhaps? I suppose you’re not one for society gossip…. how about literature?”

Something sparks in Zolf’s eyes at that. “Doubt I’ve read anything you’re interested in Wilde.”

“I can’t believe that’s true.” Oscar grins, sensing a tug on his metaphorical fishing rod. “What tickles the fancy of the great pirate captain Smith? Drama? Mystery? _Romance_?”

Zolf gives him such a look at that statement that it takes him a moment to parse it for what it is - anxious hope. 

“Oh!” Oscar grins, leaning back in, suddenly very interested indeed. “What’s your poison?”

“Wilde...” Zolf grumbles, rubbing a hand over his forehead and smearing a little oil there, which really only enhances the whole aesthetic he’s got going on. 

“I’m not making fun, Zolf, I promise.” He says, pitching his voice low, honest. “I’ve been known to enjoy a good love story in my time. The dirtier the better, frankly. You know, I once met Harrison Campbell at a party and—.”

“You met Harrison Campbell?” Zolf interjects, his face more open than it’s been the entire time Oscar’s been aboard. 

“I did. I think it was just after the publication of _The Heart Beats Faster_ and he was _quite_ popular, let me tell you. Gods, but that one is filthy isn’t it?”

He has to wait for a moment for it… but Zolf grins, shaking his head. “Yeah. It’s good though.”

“ _Very_.” Oscar grins, memories of some of his favourite passages running through his head. If he stops to think about it, the setup is not dissimilar to his current predicament, though he is not a simpering virgin with a heaving bosom. Still… it sets his mind running. Perhaps if he plays his cards right…

“Get some rest, Wilde. We can talk again when you’re able to focus.”

 _Ah, if only he knew what my mind was actually focused on_ , Oscar thinks, watching as Zolf gets to his feet and wanders towards the door. “Don't be a stranger, Captain.”

Oscar does doze for most of the rest of the day, still exhausted and recovering, but the fatigue is gradually receding. There’s dinner by the door of his makeshift room on a tray and a stack of novels. Oscar smiles to himself and walks over to collect both, taking the opportunity to stretch his stiff limbs. The meal is excellent, a steamed cut of fish and vegetables with rice, and Oscar thinks he would find it delicious even if he hadn’t been a prisoner for the better part of the last month. 

He starts sorting through the stack of novels, letting the warmth of his meal soak into his pleasantly full stomach. They’re all Campbells, each with well worn covers and soft pages belying how often they’ve been read, how well-loved they are by their owner. His mouth breaks into a wide grin. The grumpy pirate captain _loves_ romance novels. This is doing absolutely nothing to assuage his growing crush. Captain Smith has quite the collection, the assortment in front of him includes some of Campbell’s oldest works as well as some of his most recent. Oscar picks one of the most well read tomes and settles into his cot, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders against the cold of the sea air and making himself comfortable for a nice long read. 

It’s one he hasn’t read, but the cover art is promising, featuring a brawny, tanned man covered with artful smudges of grease and dirt, staring intensely into the eyes of a well dressed man with a crown upon his flaxen head full of hair. The plot is simple, but Oscar doesn’t mind, a plot doesn’t have to be convoluted—full of twists and turns and small details—to be enjoyable. Campbell’s strengths have always been in conveying emotion and intimacy. And he’s an incredible way of depicting intimacy of a decidedly more _explicit_ manner. 

He reaches one of these more explicit scenes soon enough, reading as quickly as he is. He’d forgotten just quite how gifted at explicit prose Campbell is. The tension between the two protagonists is palpable and has been since their first meeting and now the prince is finally giving in to his urges, getting rid of some of the pent up lust and desire he won’t let himself admit to feeling. Oscar reads until night falls and he has to light the oil lantern on the table near the cot to continue reading. He doesn’t have far to go yet and he is utterly entranced. He can tell which pages, which sections have been read over and over again. The filthiest sections appear to be the most loved, if the softness of the paper is anything to go by. Oscar finally comes across the most worn pages in the book—a heartfelt confession of feelings followed by a passionate and heated lovemaking, the in depth description of which takes up the next several pages.

It makes heat coil in his stomach and his cock stirs with mild interest. He has privacy here, there’s a door to the room with the cell and his makeshift accommodations, and the Captain has been very good about knocking before entering. He’s not been able to touch himself in so long and an orgasm has always helped with his nerves and to take the sharp edge of stress away. He finishes reading the section and carefully sets the book on the side table, face down keeping it open to his spot. He lies back, settling the blanket over himself and sliding a hand down his torso and slipping it past the waist of his trousers and pants. It does not take long to stroke himself to hardness and he bites his lip against how good it feels, trying to stifle the noises that want to spill from his throat. Gods, but it’s been so long. He can feel it now that he’s somewhere relatively safe, now that he has the luxury of noticing just how hungry for touch his body is. 

He shoves his trousers and pants off his hips and down until he can kick them off. He waves a hand and suddenly his fingers are coated in a slippery substance Oscar knows works very well for his intended purposes. He wraps a hand around himself, and doesn’t quite manage to bite back the moan the slick slide of his grip inspires. He releases himself and waves his hand again, coating his fingers with more of the oil and spreading it over the fingers of his other hand and arching his back to dip them low, to probe at his hole.

He’s never struggled for a fanciful imagination, and it doesn’t abandon him in times like this. He takes inspiration from the scenes he’s just been reading, letting his eyes close and picturing a faceless body, stronger than his own, manhandling him just a bit (he’s glad that _that_ urge hasn’t gone away). He grins at the imagined press of hands to his hips, a hand with thick fingers wrapping around his own and guiding him into a faster rhythm. He hears a voice encourage him to fuck himself deeper and complies, the flex of fingers within him better than he remembers it being for some time.

He’s on the edge, squeezing and twisting at the end of every pull of his fist when he lets his mind wander, picturing wind- and battle-roughened fingers connected to a tattooed hand and a strong arm dotted with white hair. Oscar gasps, thrusting his hips up as his mind connects the dots. He imagines bright green eyes staring down at him and comes with a shout that he can’t muffle, clenching around his fingers and spilling over his grip, down onto his belly.

As he lays there, catching his breath and trying to reconcile exactly what it was that tipped him over the edge, Oscar sees a distortion in the light under his doorway as someone (he knows who it is, he _knows)_ walks away and wonders quite what the clench in his belly is trying to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don’t know how many chapters this is gonna be, 5? Liable to change...strap in because this is going to get just...so filthy. Hope you enjoyed, feel free to leave us a comment below!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolf and Oscar do some bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has been a true joy.

He can’t say what he expected when he finally caught up with the ship that’s plagued him for years. A battle, surely, but one they could win. A nice amount of plunder to keep them going through any upcoming fallow periods as the weather has become increasingly unpredictable recently.

A half-starved wretch beaten and bound in their holding cell, the remnants of his fine clothing stained and ripped and his eyes filled with a mix of fear and resignation at the sight of Zolf in the doorway of his cell?

Significantly less expected.

The man had clearly nearly lost his mind in captivity, muttering nonsense about Zolf’s eyes and clinging to him like he was some sort of hero as Sasha just watched in mute amusement.

It’s been unexpectedly nice to watch him come back to himself, even if the oddly flirty tone he affects in each of their conversations still boggles his mind. Zolf looks forward to seeing him for his daily medical check-ins, but it must just be the novelty of having a new face on board after so long.

And he’s not the only one.

He’s so surprised to find Sasha in Wilde’s room the first time that he almost turns right around again, thinking he must be in the wrong place. They’re sat together, strangely close given that he doesn’t think he can remember the last time Sasha willingly socialised with another member of the crew that wasn’t him.

Zolf watches, startled when Sasha says something that makes Oscar crow with laughter, his head falling back into the wall. It’s a hearty laugh, a genuine laugh and it makes something twinge in his gut to hear it. And he is absolutely not envious of the fact that it was Sasha who inspired that sort of reaction. No, not at all. That would be silly. He fumbles over to them and asks Oscar to roll back the sleeves of his shirt so he can examine his wrists. The wounds are all but healed, nothing left of them but the faintest of red lines that will eventually fade into very faint pink scars. Oscar smiles when Zolf wraps his hand around his wrist, delicate and bony and fragile under his calloused hands. It makes something protective rise up in his chest.

The wounds on his wrist and everywhere else had been in a bad way when he’d found Wilde, raw and open, heated and weeping with the first signs of infection. It had been obvious that they hadn’t bothered to heal him at all, or taken any great care to ensure he stayed alive. It makes him wonder what kind of trouble the man’s in. It makes his stomach churn uncomfortably and his chest tighten to remember the look in his eyes when he’d found him in the cell—defeat, a sad resignation that Zolf was about to kill him. Zolf wasn’t, of course, but there’s no way Oscar would have known that. He’s developed a burning curiosity about Oscar. He has the ridiculous desire to know everything about him, but he pushes it down and levels his best scowl at Sasha instead of asking Oscar any of the questions nagging at him.

“You gonna get back to work or you just gonna hide in here all day?” Zolf grouses.

Sasha rolls her eyes fondly and hops off the cot.

Oscar waves at her and gives her a conspiratorial wink. “I’m _shore_ I’ll _catch_ you later.”

Sasha pauses in the doorway. “I’ll _sea_ you around.”

“Good one.” Oscar says and Sasha smiles before turning to make her way back above deck.

Zolf takes a moment to process. Is Sasha—Sasha, living shadow, terror that stalks silently in the night—making _puns_?

Zolf studies the easy smile on Wilde’s face. It makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and Zolf gets a good look at the sea blue of them before he has the good sense to tear his gaze away.

He clears his throat and stares at the floor.

“See you and the first mate are gettin’ on.” The feeling in his gut isn’t jealousy, but it is uncomfortable and Zolf can’t place it. _Can’t or won’t_ , he chastises himself, but he waves it off, it’s not an argument he can with himself right now. _Can’t or won’t_ his inner voice insists again.

“She’s lovely.” Wilde smiles as he says it and Zolf can’t help but match it. Sasha is lovely.

“You and she both have a very candid and frank way of speaking that I find to be sorely lacking in most conversational partners.”

Zolf snorts in surprise.

“Don’t think anyone’s ever complimented me on my conversational skills before.”

Wilde pats the space on the cot next to him.

“I find talking to you to be a singularly wonderful experience.”

Zolf’s feet move before he’s given them permission and he sits a carefully measured distance away from Oscar on the bed. He notices the books stacked on the table, one face down and open to keep the place.

“Enjoying the Campbell?”

“Oh, yes, that’s the third one.”

Zolf raises a brow and tries to keep his smile in check.

“Fast reader.”

“You have a lot that I’ve never read.” Wilde pauses, tucking a stray piece of hair behind an ear, giving Zolf a good view of the elegant line of his neck. “It’s nice to be able to spend time in one place long enough to read.”

“Which one are you reading?” Oscar reaches over him, to the table to show Zolf the cover. It’s _From the Forges of Passion._ It’s the third and last one in the series about the prince and the blacksmith. It’s one of Zolf’s favorites, though the first of the series is the best.

Zolf clears his throat and shakes his head, dislodging thoughts of a scene where the blacksmith has the prince pinned against a wall in a dark hallway, in the throes of passion, hand over his mouth as guards pass them by.

“How do you like it then?”

Wilde smiles and Zolf fixates on the crinkles around his eyes again, on the way his eyes light up. “Oh, they’re brilliant. Thank you, Captain.”

Wilde shifts on the bed, angling himself so he’s properly facing Zolf. Zolf can finally understand what the swirling feeling in his gut that’s been there since he walked in on Oscar and Sasha laughing means. He’d wanted to be a part of it. To be between their smiles and laughs, to be the one making them laugh, making Oscar laugh, specifically. He knows what Sasha’s laugh sounds like. Oscar’s is still foreign and it makes his stomach drop every time he hears it.

They chat idly about romance novels for a while. Oscar waggles his eyebrows and makes dirty jokes and puns that Zolf pretends to be exasperated by, which makes the man giggle, so Zolf counts it as a win. They fall into a comfortable silence and Zolf lets his body lean into the warmth emanating from the man next to him. Oscar doesn’t try to fill the silence with anything, he just sits next to him, sharing the silence with a soft smile on his face. No one’s been this easy to talk to since Sasha, and it’s easier, even. He’s going to miss him when they make it to port.

“You really don’t have anywhere to go?”

Oscar’s eyes peer at him curiously, smile still in place as he tilts his head in consideration.

“Just,” Zolf tries to think of how to explain himself, “if we take you to shore and let you loose, are you going to be alright?”

Oscar’s smile widens. “Sweet of you to worry for me, Captain Smith.”

Zolf grumbles, frustrated as much with Oscar’s diversion as he is with himself for being so bad at managing his feelings. He’s never known how to care for people, how to let them know. He’s never gotten the knack for casual care. It’s so often all or nothing, and Oscar is quickly finding himself being sorted into the former category.

“Have you ever even been out of England?”

Oscar laughs, a true and hearty laugh that is more pleasant than Zolf wants to admit to listen to. “Captain Smith, I’m not even from England.”

Zolf reconciles his perfect posh English accent with a man desperate enough to fall into the arms of one of the most notorious pirate crews around for sanctuary. Someone important enough for them to capture and hold instead of just throwing him overboard.

“Whatever it is you’ve got yourself in...I just don’t want to send you away to die.” Zolf scratches at his nose and looks away, out the porthole, anywhere but at the strangely open expression on Wilde’s face. “Be a waste of perfectly good healing.”

A few more minutes of silence pass between them before Zolf breaks it, curiosity getting the better of him. “Where are you from?”

Sadness darkens his eyes. “Ireland.”

Zolf’s come across enough spies in his time to have worked out that’s probably what Wilde is—was. Zolf’s never fancied himself a people person or even particularly insightful, but he recognizes something in Wilde. He recognizes a man without a home, without a family, out of options and with nowhere to go. Zolf knows what that feels like. _Gods_ does Zolf know what that feels like. His ship is his home now, his crew his family, and a lump forms in his throat as remembers the pain he was in, the same pain Wilde is only just managing to hide.

“You a, err—“ there’s no way to delicately phrase the question, “you a spy, or somethin’?”

Wilde gives him a wry grin, eyes still dulled. “Or something.”

“And you’ve obviously got yourself in some kind of trouble…” Zolf doesn’t want to press, but he does desperately want to know.

“I didn’t agree with what they were doing anymore, so I started trying to help, and I got caught.” Wilde shrugs. “And then I escaped.” Wilde taps his chin. “And then I was caught again. But now I’m here!”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

Zolf gets up, feeling a bit too bare and less uncomfortable about that than he knows what to do with. “I’ll come get you for dinner later, alright?”

“I look forward to it, Captain.”

***

Zolf busies himself rechecking all of the rigging and untying and retying knots and inspecting ammunition stores. He manages to keep himself busy enough that he only realizes it’s time for dinner when he smells it on the breeze. Well, time to go get Wilde. He swears the man would just forget to eat if he wasn’t bloody dragged to dinner. He walks below deck and into Wilde’s makeshift room, the door is cracked so he pushes it open.

He’s about to turn and leave the room upon finding it empty, when he notices a spread of the papers Oscar had asked for the other day laid over the messy sheets of the bed. (It’s hard not to judge him by Navy standards, but easy not to dwell on why he’s giving the man an easier ride than most.) Walking over, he glances at the paper and finds it covered in neat, looping script that features barely any errors or strikethroughs, such a fluent, confident swath of prose that he picks up a page without thinking.

_He snarls at the press of a hand to the back of his neck, struggling performatively at the stronger man’s hold. It’s a bit of a game, all told, to pretend that this isn’t what his body has been burning with desire for ever since he laid eyes on the man. To pretend that he hasn’t touched himself nightly to the imagined sensation of the man’s hands on his skin. He goes limp, feeling a palm smooth over his arse and a dark smile pushed into his throat, the man dropping praise-filled warmth into his ear._

Zolf swallows.

It’s been easy enough to write off the sounds that he’s heard from Wilde’s cabin late at night as a sign of comfort, a positively glowing review for the sanctuary of his ship. It’s a natural urge, one that even he indulges in from time to time - though not recently, even if he can’t claim to have been completely unaffected by hearing Wilde’s… increasingly effusive performances.

He _thought_ he heard his na—.

No.

He skims the rest of the page, looking for clues, looking for assurances. He doesn’t have to look hard. The tattoos described on the nameless man’s arms are the same as his, his hair is white, his voice gruff and accented. The other man is preening, primped and handsome with a long spill of dark hair and fae blue eyes.

Zolf is not foolish enough to be able to write off all of that. He sighs, setting the paper down. If he hadn’t found himself in the part of a starring role he might be able to dwell on the merits of the writing - it’s as good as a Campbell, if not more so in places, not weighed down by the need to impress a loyal audience.

It was also, decidedly, not written for him to see.

Zolf leaves the room quickly, heading towards the mess, assuming that Wilde must have gone ahead with Sasha and the others. When he walks in, his eyes scan the room and Sasha and Wilde all squeezed up together around one of the smaller tables, though there’s a gap left to WIlde’s left for another person to step into. A part of him doesn’t want to, because Wilde is capable of many things and telepathy might just be bloody one of them. But he fetches up a plate of food and moves over to them regardless, feeling the back of his neck flush at the smile Wilde shoots him as he approaches.

“Ah, Captain Smith. We were getting worried.”

Zolf snorts, swinging his legs over the bench and fighting down a jolt when his knee touches Wilde’s. It won’t do to get caught up in his own head now. Could all just be coincidences.

“Thought I’d have to fetch you for dinner again. I see Sasha beat me to it.”

It doesn’t sound irritated, it absolutely _doesn’t_ but Sasha smiles at him anyway, seeing through him as easily as she always has. When he glances away and over at WIlde there’s a flicker of something across his face that might be worry or might be quiet triumph, he’s not sure. Zolf doesn’t know the man’s expressive face well enough to recognise what each little quirk of his brow or twist of his lips is trying to say. He is struggling to maintain the lie that he doesn’t want time to learn them.

Dinner is… nice. It’s nice. He lets go of any of his lingering uncertainty and delves into conversation with Sasha and Wilde. It’s different to being on the outside, watching them and admiring over how easily they’ve bonded. By the time their plates are clean and the day shift are heading off to bed, he almost doesn’t want to join them. But Wilde’s still got bags under his eyes and even an extended stay on the ship hasn’t given him a healthier glow to his stubbornly pallid complexion.

They walk silently back towards their sleeping quarters, and Zolf realises at the last moment that he probably shouldn’t be there when WIlde remembers he left his papers all over the bed. Zolf stutters out a goodnight and reaches out for the man’s forearm, overshoots and pats his hip instead, hearing the sharp intake of breath Wilde gives as Zolf hurries away and around the corner, heartbeat thudding in his ears.

His thoughts don’t stop racing until he’s sat on his bed, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. Stupid. He feels like a youth all over again, panicked and uncertain around someone pretty and nice. He’s well past that. Decades past that. Why is it _Wilde_ that’s made him revert?

He gets ready for bed with mechanical detachment, leaving his legs on because they’ve been pretty good all day and he likes the lack of vulnerability it comes with. He hums, pulling the sheets up over his chest and clicking his fingers to gut the candle, leaving him in darkness save for moonlight through his window.

It’s only a few minutes before he hears it.

Quiet at first, barely audible over the creaking and groaning of the ship. A few quiet moans, enough to make his ears prick up and focus on hearing more. He sighs, conscious of the weight of the sheet over him everywhere, but especially over his chest and groin. He imagines what must be happening, thinks of the slick passage of a hand with lovely long fingers wrapped around a cock that he pictures being as effortlessly elegant as Wilde himself.

He gasps, reaching a palm down to cover the thickening heat of his own cock. It’s been too long. He’s getting hard quicker than he normally does, throbbing with every gentle call and grunt and groan from the other side of the wall.

By the time he gives in completely, wrapping his hand around his cock and tugging on it, flailing with his other hand for the bottle of oil he keeps on a shelf beside the bed, Wilde’s way ahead of him, cursing and gasping with increasing volume and enthusiasm. Zolf lets out a long, low groan as he strokes oil up and down his cock and hears all sound on the other side of the wall stop immediately.

Well. Now he’s committed.

He’s not loud in bed, usually. And not one for putting on a show. But he finds himself inspired by imagining what Wilde's thinking, what he’s hearing, how he might react to the knowledge that little more than a few planks of wood divides them now.

He grits his teeth as the words he read earlier float through his mind again, as he imagines bending Wilde over his desk and taking, _taking_ and getting back his control… His lips form Wilde’s name but nothing comes out other than a gasping, growling noise that sounds appealing even to his ears.

“ _Zolf._ ”

He hears it as clearly as if WIlde moaned it directly in his ear, his hips bucking up into the tight ring of his forefinger and thumb. He can’t hold back after that, working his cock quickly and coming with a gasp and a lingering groan as he moves his grip until he’s tingling with oversensitivity. He catches Wilde giving his own high cry from the other room and shudders at the unwitting intimacy of the act they’ve just shared.

He could go to sleep.

He _should_ go to sleep.

Zolf sighs and pushes out of the bed, washing his hands and pulling his clothes and boots back on.

He should do a lot of things. But not right now. He goes out into the salty air of the night, wind whipping his mussed hair about his head. He’ll have his work cut out for him untangling it later, but that’s far from his mind at the moment. His breathing still isn’t back to normal and his heart is racing, blood rushing in his ears, drowning out the lap of the waves against the hull. He leans against the railing, looking out at the moon reflecting off the darkness of the calm swells. The cold breeze is nice against his heated skin. It’s only been a couple of weeks. He’s been trying to ignore his mounting feelings, and perhaps that’s only served to make them more potent. He can’t do this. Oscar’s only being so nice to him, only thinks he’s attracted to him because Zolf literally rescued him from captivity, that has to be it. And Oscar’s getting off at the first port. He can’t get attached. He holds too tightly—he’s never done well with letting go.

And then there’s the matter of his own attraction to contend with. He’s never been able to understand how or why it happens, only that a genuine attraction always involves feelings, and even then isn’t a given. He thinks Wilde’s pretty, more than pretty, he’s imagined what his cock might look like and what his face might look like flushed and with his mouth open and gasping. He isn’t used to dealing with this, used to feeling a draw towards another person that dips into a physical attraction. Zolf can count on one hand the number of times it’s occurred and still have fingers to spare.

He tries desperately not to think about what just transpired and how he might possibly face the man in question tomorrow. The thing is that Zolf’s gotten to know enough, gotten enough pieces of Wilde to put together a coherent picture, and he wants to take care of him, and he knows enough to imagine how precisely Wilde might like to be taken care of. There’s a restlessness to his eyes and an exhaustion etched into the bags under his eyes and the set of his broad but thin shoulders. His body bears all the signs of carrying a great stress for a long time, Zolf sees it every day as he checks him over. It’s a stress his healing can’t take away, but Zolf would still like to wring it from his body with his own hands, lie him back on his bed and wrench pleasure from his body until all he can do is sob with relief.

He shoves off from the railing and begins to pace back and forth across the deck. He reaches the railing on the other side of the ship for what has to be at least the seventh time and when he turns to pace back across to the other side, he is treated by Sasha, standing in front of him with her head cocked. He almost falls backwards over the railing, it startles him so badly.

“Gods, Sasha. ‘M gonna get a bell for you!”

Sasha grins, not looking at all sorry.

He should be used to the way she soundlessly appears behind or in front of him, dropping down from the rigging or materializing from seemingly nothing, but she still manages to scare him more often than not.

“You tryin’ to wear a hole in the deck, Captain?”

“No, no, I’m just,” Zolf flails with a hand, having absolutely no reason for his quiet crisis, “thinking!”

“Thinking.” Sasha repeats, fixing him with a skeptic’s eye. “Thinking about?”

“I dunno! Things. Just thinkin’ about things!”

Sasha turns and falls in step beside him as he laces to the other railing. “Right, so you’re not like, sneakin’ off to Wilde’s or nothin’ then?”

Zolf nearly trips. He wasn’t, but he’s aware of how telling his spluttering is.

“Knew you liked him. Not often you take a shine to anyone, kinda nice to see.”

“I haven’t taken a shine to anything.” Zolf grumbles through the rising heat on his cheeks.

“Uh huh.” Sasha’s tone tells him all he needs to know about how much she believes him.

“You seem to like him fine enough.”

Sasha shrugs a shoulder. “He’s weird. I like weird.”

Zolf chuckles. He spends a while more with Sasha and then leaves her to it. It’s not her night for the watch shift, but he knows she just likes climbing through the rigging and staring at the sky, and it is a nice clear night for it. Talking to Sasha has calmed him down and admitting to feeling some kind of way about their passenger, whether indirectly or not, has eased his nerves enough for sleep to sound feasible.

***

He wakes only slightly tired. He briefly debates forgoing his morning check-in with Oscar, but decides against it, not wanting to make things awkward by changing their routine. Wilde for his part doesn’t let on that he knows anything happened. Zolf stumbles on slightly over his words, but Oscar’s calm and unaffected manner quickly puts him to rights.

It’s one of Sasha’s few days off and Zolf has his hands full picking up the slack. He doesn’t see her come up for lunch or breakfast and goes to bring her a plate of food around midday. She’s not in any of her usual spots and he wracks his mind, finally coming up with one last place he hasn’t looked yet. He makes a stop by the galley and piles more food on the plate, taking it down to the hold.

He hears their laughter before he makes it all the way down the states, uproarious and manic. He is unprepared for the sight that greets him. Sasha is sitting on the cot next to Oscar, almost tucked into his side and holding a bottle of rum that she passes off to him. He takes a healthy swig and mumbles something that makes Sasha crow with laughter again. It makes his stomach tighten with a peculiar mix of fondness and just the barest hint of jealousy. Jealousy at their ease, the comfortable lean of their bodies toward each other.

“Oi, you two, it’s the middle of the day for crying out loud!”

Oscar turns his head and Zolf watches as his entire face lights up. It’s not because of him, it can’t be. He enjoys the sight nonetheless. “Time is a construct, Mr. Smith.”

“Captain!” Zolf moves into the room and offers the tray to the pair, trying to get an idea of how far gone they are.

“Excuse me, _Captain_ Smith.” Oscar’s eyes flash and Sasha snickers. “Won’t you join us, we’re having a whale of a time.”

He passes the bottle back to Sasha and Zolf spots the liquid sloshing around the halfway mark. Sasha takes a swig and appears to be thinking very hard about something before she grins triumphantly.

“Oh yeah, have some of this rum, Captain. I’m sure it’ll have your _seal_ of approval.”

She cackles to herself and Oscar claps her on the shoulder, “Oooh! Good one.”

Zolf is happy to see them getting on. Wilde looks less stressed than he has since he’s boarded the ship and a spike of jealousy rises at the realization that it wasn’t him to put that carefree expression on his face. He wonders if the expression is similar to the one he wears as he wraps a hand around himself and makes all those pretty noises Zolf can hear through the wall.

Zolf sets the plate of food down on the table. “Some of us have work to be doing. Try to sober up by dinner?”

Wilde gives him a jaunty salute and winks. “Aye-aye Captain.”

Zolf flushes and backs out of the room, leaving them to whatever it is they’re doing. Zolf sees Oscar go to swipe the bottle back from Sasha as he starts to ascend the stairs and the last snippet of conversation he catches is Oscar saying, “Now, now don’t be shellfish.”

The two do turn up apparently sober for dinner. Zolf gathers his nerve and sits next to Wilde. They make easy conversation over dinner. Wilde has a way of focusing on Zolf that makes everything he says seem important, that makes him feel like he’s the only person in the room. Sasha leaves them as the plates are being cleared away and soon they are the last two at the table.

“Well, Captain, I think I’ve still got some of that rum left in my lodging if you like a drink.”

Zolf gets up to follow him. “Some of my rum, you mean.”

Oscar hums and glances over his shoulder. “Well, yes I suppose it is.”

They sit on the cot, inches separating their thighs and pass the bottle back and forth. The cot groans as Zolf shifts and he thinks of how much more comfortable his own bed is.

“You’re comfortable enough here?”

“Oh yes, very.”

“You’re sure? I could bring you some more blankets or another pillow if you wanted.”

Wilde bites his lip. “Perhaps another pillow. But really, I’m very comfortable here.” Wilde looks down and Zolf swears he sees a tinge of pink color his high cheekbones. “And I feel safe. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere I feel safe.”

He whispers it, like it’s a secret and Zolf’s breath catches in his throat.

“Glad to hear it.”

Zolf thinks about sliding closer, moving his body so they’re thigh to thigh, reaching a hand out and squeezing his shoulder. Instead he puts his hands in his lap and wrings them.

“Safe and in good company…” Oscar trails off and catches Zolf’s eye with a heated gaze, “Hard to feel alone when you know there’s someone just on the other side of the wall.”

Zolf’s heart hammers in his chest. “S’pose it is.”

Zolf corks the bottle and stands. “Well I’d best be letting you get to sleep, you still look like you could use more.”

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Smith.”

“Captain.” Zolf reminds him. “Good night, Oscar.” Zolf says, knowing what’s going to happen the second he gets to his room and lies on the bed, knowing he’s going to shove his pants down his thighs and imagine Oscar doing the same while straining his ears for the sounds of Oscar’s labored breathing and moans.

“Sleep well, Captain.”

Zolf slams the door to his room closed and kicks his shoes off, snatching the bottle of oil off his nightstand and lying on the bed. He undoes his trousers and shoves them down and then off, tugging his shirt off and trailing a hand over his chest and down, stroking himself to full hardness before pouring some of the oil onto his fingers. He strains his ears, thinks he can hear the sound fabric rustling on the other side of the wall and then the first of Oscar’s moans start. Zolf slides his slick grip up the length of his cock and pinches a nipple with the other hand, pulse fluttering as he moans, loud enough to be heard.

Oscar’s answering moans come a bit louder and his cock throbs in his grip as he works it. He pictures Oscar, long limbs spread out on the cot, tugging at his cock, head thrown back, curls sprawled around his head and mouth open. He grunts and thrusts his hips into his grip and does it again, and again, groaning to be heard every time. He can hear as Oscar’s moans shift to panting, can hear the rustling of sheets and then a cry and a desperate, “ _fuck.”_

Zolf can only imagine what he’s doing to himself, perhaps he’s fucking himself on his fingers, on his long lovely fingers. He ponders just asking for a moment, facing the wall and asking to know exactly how he’s touching himself and the thought makes him dizzy, makes his cock ache and pulse in his grip, hips bucking. He groans again and Oscar responds, “fuck, _Zolf.”_

Hearing his name does something. He sits up in bed. He can’t keep doing this. He pulls on his sleep trousers, throws on his boots, not bothering to find his socks and heads out, hoping the cold air on his bare torso will knock some sense into him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolf and Oscar get a little, then a lot more familiar with each other. Which isn't necessarily a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from us a little bit. _*covers up the fact that it's almost as long as the entire fic so far*_
> 
> It's worth it though. A lot uh, goes down.

He almost can’t believe his luck the first time he hears Zolf on the other side of the wall, the man’s gorgeously rich voice trembling around a groan that shoots all the way down his spine and makes him come harder than he can remember for some time.

He isn’t sure whether to bring up their shared experience the next morning, hesitates long enough over it that he misses his chance, though in its way it’s an answer to see Zolf stumbling over words and actions, even if he doesn’t manage to get an elusive blush out of the dwarf. Zolf isn’t wholly unaffected by it. The younger part of him, the impulsive part that he’s forced down over years of spywork and secrecy, wants to prod and to expose the truth… but he holds off, recognising that now isn’t the time.

That doesn’t stop him inviting the Captain back to his quarters that night, and the fact that he actually gets a positive response and a lovely, open conversation out of it is treat enough. But he’s only human, and he’s riled up enough by the time Zolf leaves that he can barely wait to get his hands on himself. His cock is straining against the front of his trousers, already leaking by the time he wraps his fist around himself and struggles one-handedly out of the rest of his clothing.

A dark little voice whispers for a moment when he hears Zolf’s door slam shut, that he’s too much he’s too forward, that Zolf is just being _nice_ and was just letting off a little steam, that it’s not about him at all and that he’s lucky to even be able to hear the dwarf’s pleasure…

When he hears a lingering groan from Zolf’s room.

Oh but he would give anything to hear more. To hear him without the wall in the way, to know what Zolf’s face looks like when he twists his wrist just _so_. He’s greedy with it, hungry, wanton and wanting and it thrills through him like a drug in his veins. He casts a quick grease spell over his second hand and works two fingers into himself quickly, feeling his body give in to the familiar pressure and open eagerly at the thought of it being Zolf instead, bright eyes shining with lust as Oscar takes him in.

He goes a little cold when he realises the sounds of pleasure from next door have gone away. Was it too much? Has Zolf changed his mind? Gods this is going to make the journey to the next port feel absolutely unending, knowing that he forced Zolf away just as they were starting to make a—.

The knock at the door makes him jolt, clenching down around his fingers, his palm tightening around his flagging cock. He pulls himself together as quickly as he’s able, mind working a mile a minute to factor in what’s actually happening.

Zolf is at his door.

It must be Zolf.

Zolf knows what he’s doing.

And Oscar doesn’t want to stop.

“Come in.” He calls, voice a little unsteady.

There’s a moment, a pause, when he thinks that Zolf might have turned tail and fled (and really, he wouldn’t blame Zolf for it, this is a step they really can’t come back from). But then the door creaks open and the Captain steps inside, looking like something out of his most dirty of dreams.

He’s shirtless, skin dotted with drying sweat, chest marked with a few light scratches from his nails around the gold bars that pierce his nipples ( _he thought he’d seen those but didn’t know if he was dreaming…)_. Oscar lets his hand work slowly as he takes in the full extent of Zolf Smith, eyes dragging slowly from his strong shoulders, to the plush expanse of his chest and stomach, so much of them covered with tattoos. He moans softly when he looks further down, to the soft material of Zolf’s sleep pants utterly failing to hide the thick outline of his hard cock, unaffected by the walk or the night air. Zolf’s eyes are wide as he stares at Oscar’s eager hands, his cheeks red and his hair mussed and Oscar’s really not above begging, he’s not…

“Oscar…”

A whine escapes him as his eyes slip closed, his hand working quickly over his cock as he starts to probe his hole with a third finger. He’s always been good at performing, and now is no exception - he’s not going to give Zolf enough time to second guess this. He feels his body thrumming with the knowledge of Zolf’s eyes on him as he works his body back up and past his previous level of arousal.

With the rushing of blood in his ears, the first indication he has of Zolf moving across the room is the heat radiating from another body stepping closer to the cot. Oscar’s breath hitches and he stills the movements of both his hands as the cot creaks and dips under Zolf hitching on leg up on it. Then, with precious little fanfare, the fingers that he's been fantasizing about for days, been trying to imagine the exact shape and feel of, are wrapping around his wrist and dragging his own fingers out of his body gently and slowly.

Oscar opens his eyes to find Zolf staring at him like he’s something desperately precious, sinking a hand into Oscar's hair. His jaw clenches and he keeps heated and hungry eye contact as he sinks two of his thick fingers into the clutching heat of Oscar's body. Oh, but Oscar could _sob_ with how good it feels, to finally be filled in the way he’s been longing for.

Oscar feels a bit breathless with the pleasure of it, the sheer shock of another person's touch on his body after so long without. He whines, letting out a ridiculous string of noises that he should be embarrassed by but Zolf's giving soft little disbelieving chuckles, crooking his fingers deep. Oscar stares at him, pleading, wondering if everything he's felt, everything he's wanted is clear in his gaze.

Zolf chews at his lip, gaze locked on Oscar's instead of taking pleasure in watching his fingers disappear into Oscar’s body over and over. Oscar feels uncommonly seen as Zolf drinks in each of his reactions, the way his brow pinches and his mouth falls open with cry after exultant cry as he drops both his hands away to fist in the sheets.

“Can you come like this?” Zolf asks, and Oscar’s honestly not sure, but he wants to find out.

“I—I don’t know.” Zolf’s fingers crook deep again, rubbing against that spot in him that makes his cock twitch and leak against his belly. “But I’m more than willing to let you find out...Captain.”

It works, even though Oscar had no idea if it would, Zolf's eyes getting this lovely dark sparkle to them as he leans in closer, curling his other hand around the back of Oscar's neck.

“Say it again.”

“Anything you want, Captain.” He says around a slightly manic grin, unable to force down the giddiness growing in his chest. “Please. I'll do anything.”

Zolf smirks, all dangerous and enrapturing in the way that drew Oscar to him in the first place. “Tell me what you think about, when I hear you doing this to yourself. What do you imagine me doing?”

Oscar moans and arches, a fresh wave of arousal washing over him, ratcheting him ever closer to his peak. He’s close, he’s so close, he can feel it coiling at the base of his spine, warming in his gut. It’s both too much and not enough. He licks his lips. “I think about you holding me down, tying me up,” Oscar moans and arches his back again, trying to get more contact, more sensation, trying to find what he needs to push him over the edge. “Think about you fisting a hand in my hair and holding me down on my stomach as you have me from behind, as rough as you want.”

Zolf makes a low noise, a groan or a _snarl_ , and it makes his toes curl. He looks powerful. He looks like the type of man Oscar could give himself to happily. He looks like his very own personal Campbell hero come to life.

“Come for me, Oscar.”

He does, arching and gasping and spilling over his belly, his hand curving over the meat of Zolf’s thigh and digging in as he grinds down on Zolf’s fingers, working himself through the flush of pleasure pulsing in his gut.

When Oscar’s eyes finally crack open, Zolf eases his fingers free and uses his other hand to catch up some of the come on Oscar’s stomach, sucking at one finger and then bringing the others to Oscar’s mouth with a coy little smile. Oscar opens his mouth and nips at the pads of Zolf’s fingers, tongue twirling and cleaning his own spend away.

“You’ll kill me after all.” He says once Zolf’s hand is settled pleasantly heavy on his sternum, quietly waving his hand and casting a quick prestidigitation, which gets an appreciative look out of Zolf.

“Not my intention.” Zolf murmurs, thumb stroking tenderly over Oscar’s chest. He opens his mouth again, then closes it, swallows and tries again. “We should talk. Would you... like to come to my cabin?”

“A personal invitation from the Captain?” Oscar breathes around a nervous, anticipatory chuckle. “I’d be honoured.”

Zolf smirks, standing up and stepping back, looking down at himself with a sigh. “You’re a bloody nuisance, you know that?” He says, and for one brief moment of utter confusion Oscar thinks he’s talking to his cock, before realising that it was directed more pointedly.

He smirks, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot and reaching out to tease a palm over Zolf’s cock. “I’m sure we can find some way of rectifying that which may change your mind.”

Zolf grumbles, walking towards the door. “Clothes on Wilde. Not having you streaking on my ship.” He must see something in Oscar’s face, because he points a finger at him in warning. “No. Not then. Not ever. Clothes on.”

Oscar pouts, snatching up his trousers. “Fine. Spoilsport.”

***

The lantern is still lit and Zolf’s covers are still turned down, bottle of oil nestled in the sheets when he pushes the door to his cabin open and leads Wilde in, kicking his shoes off at the door. Wilde shuffles in behind him, keen eyes wandering over the knickknacks Zolf keeps neatly organized on his desk and his sizable collection of novels neatly lined up on his bookshelf. Oscar’s wearing a soft shirt that is much too big on his slight frame and a pair of soft pajama bottoms that aren’t quite long enough for him, exposing his ankles and the bottoms of his shins. Zolf fluffs some of the pillows and sits on the bed, waiting for Oscar to finish looking around and join him.

Oscar finally finishes appraising his cabin, turning away from Zolf’s collection of Campbells and sauntering towards the bed. Zolf makes a come hither motion with two of his fingers. His cheeks grow hot and he feels ridiculous, but the way Oscar’s eyes darken as he does it wipes that away in an instant.

“Take off your clothes.” Zolf says, emboldened and commanding, injecting some of the tone he takes with the crew when they feel the need to gripe about something.

He watches Wilde’s throat work as he swallows and tugs his shirt overhead and then slips out of his pants. He hadn’t bothered to put shoes on, he’d padded over behind Zolf barefoot and the thought is strangely endearing. Oscar is all long lines and limbs, the curves of his body are sharp and elegant and he is too thin and Zolf would really take great pleasure in remedying that, but the shadows in between his ribs are beautiful, too.

Zolf scoots back on the bed until his back is against the pillows and headboard, gesturing for Oscar to join him. Oscar crawls over to him and Zolf spreads his thighs, making room. Their eyes meet and Zolf covets the heat in his gaze before fisting a hand in his hair and swallowing the ensuing moan in an open mouthed kiss. Wilde kisses hungrily back and Zolf had forgotten how nice it could be to be so close to someone, to share air and skin and heat. To trust someone not to take more than you were willing to give. Wanting to give someone so much, wanting to share your body for their pleasure. His cock throbs and aches in his trousers and he can feel the spreading dampness of the fabric at the head.

He slides his hand through Oscar’s hair, running it through the tangled curls, resolving to brush it out later, but knowing that the man in his lap is enjoying the play of the catch and pull. Zolf groans around Oscar’s tongue in his mouth at the press of a hand to where he’s hard and aching. He shifts his hips into the contact and pulls Oscar’s mouth away from his to nip at his neck until the contact becomes too much, too pleasurable. He lets the intensity of the kiss gradually decrease until it is just the soft movement and press of lips and the only noises are their shared labored breaths. Zolf spreads his thighs and moves Oscar’s hand away, murmuring, “not yet,” against his lips.

He maneuvers Oscar to lie between his thighs with his back against Zolf’s chest and runs his fingers through his curls, gently working the knots and tangles loose. Zolf can’t bring himself to break the silence yet. He stares down the lines of the man’s body, the light is too low to see the remnants of his injuries, of the scars from the wounds that hadn’t been healed in time, but Zolf knows they must be there. He runs his hands over his chest, down his sides and over his hips, pausing as his callouses catch on some raised skin, a strangely shaped scar on one of Oscar’s hips, before sliding them back up his ribs and over his nipples, teasing at them with the rough skin of his calloused fingers and kissing the moans where they reverberate through his throat. Oscar shudders in his arms and Zolf grinds his cock against his lower back, relieving some of the ache.

Oscar settles into the bed, boneless and relaxed, and sighs. “You have a very comfortable bed, Captain.”

That startles a laugh out of Zolf. His bed is rather comfortable. The mattress is firm and covered in soft, worn blankets and several pillows, and it is large with much more space than Zolf could ever hope to take up alone.

“Mmm.” Zolf hums in acknowledgement. “Would you like to stay here?” Zolf palms over Oscar’s soft cock and the man sucks a sharp breath in.

“I think I might rather enjoy that.” His tone is uneven and it fills Zolf with satisfaction and pride, a talisman against any of his formerly misplaced jealousy.

Zolf angles his head to tip back and dances his fingers down the elegant line of Oscar’s neck to his shoulders where he kneads them into the muscles. Oscar turns, so that one of his hips is pressed into the sheets and he’s on his side between Zolf’s thighs. He tilts his head and Zolf kisses him slow and lazy and smiling.

“Don’t usually get like this.” He confesses.

Oscar smiles, and Zolf knows he’s about to tease him by the way his eyes light up. How novel, how wonderful to know such a thing.

“Get like what, Captain?”

Zolf rolls his eyes. “All moony eyed and weak legged over some pretty bastard that wanders onto my ship.”

“I think if you care to recall, you’ll find I did not wander onto your ship. I was carried.” Oscar sniffs.

Zolf snorts, and smooths a hand down Oscar’s side, using the other to tug sharply on his hair. Oscar’s eyes go wide and delightfully blank as he groans at the sensation.

They find each other’s mouths again, moving together a bit more heatedly before Zolf pulls away again.

Zolf considers the man sprawled between his thighs. “You could have said something.”

Oscar bites his lip and casts his eyes downward before bringing them back up to stare into Zolf’s.

“It felt like too much. I didn’t want to push you away, didn’t want to tell you in case it was.”

“Tell me what?” Zolf’s heart thuds under Oscar’s ear, he knows he must be able to hear the frantic rhythm it beats out.

“That I’ve been dying for your attention, your affection since I came to my senses and realized you weren’t a dream. When I realized how nice you were, when you looked at me like I was worth spending time on, touched me like I was worth the healing and the energy. A kind pirate, with a soft spot for romance novels and the best healing magic I’ve ever encountered. I was doomed, really.”

Zolf’s breath catches in his throat and even if he could think of something to say, he doesn’t think he could physically form the words. He watches as Oscar’s forehead wrinkles, as worry works its way into his eyes. He slides his hand out of Oscar’s hair and caresses a sharp cheekbone, swiping back and forth with his thumb, trying to rub away the dark circle etched into the skin under his eye.

“Don’t know that it's as dramatic as all that.” Zolf finally croaks out.

“Oh but darling, I absolutely live for drama.”

Zolf is again rendered speechless, trying and failing to process the utterance of _darling_ in reference to himself.

They lie together for a while, enjoying the warmth and press of the other’s body. Zolf enjoys immensely the relaxed splay of Oscar’s limbs and the solid weight of him against his chest, in his arms. Zolf is still half hard and his cock is unerringly interested in the warm body pressed against its length. He joins their fingers after a time, enjoying the feel of them curling around his own, so different in size and shape to his own.

“You would really like being tied up?” Zolf asks, and Oscar shifts slightly. “After…?” Zolf trails off, not wanting to push the issue if it’s going to bring up any unpleasant memories.

“The thought of being tied up by you is incredibly appealing. Having you...in charge, in control, trusting you to take care of me—which you’ve already shown you’re very skilled at doing.”

The idea of it, of having someone, of having _Oscar_ put so much trust and control in his hands is heady. He’s never felt much like he has control of anything in his life, being tugged along on a runaway carriage ride it was never safe enough to jump off of. But the idea of lying Oscar down in front of him—tied up and squirming for him as he works his fingers within him and tells him how good he looks while doing it, how good he is—it’s something he wants fiercely.

“You trust me.” Zolf breathes, he’s said it so quietly he’s not sure Oscar’s heard him until an equally quiet, “I do.” Is echoed back to him.

“I could tie your hands together, and pull your hair, you seem to like it when I do that, do you like that?”

Oscar squirms in his hold, “ _Yes.”_ Something hard and hot brushes against Zolf’s thigh, the warmth of it enough to stand out from the rest of Oscar’s body and seep through Zolf’s trousers.

“Mmm, good. What else?” Zolf says, reaching for Oscar’s cock and stroking it to full hardness as his own cock swells with renewed interest.

Oscar releases a shuddering breath, wrapping a hand around Zolf’s wrist. “I like it when you’re nice to me.” He admits, cheeks turning a gorgeous pink in the low lantern light.

“Shall I show you just how nice I can be?” Zolf gathers both of Oscar’s thin wrists in his hands and rolls him onto his stomach, pinning his wrists over his head, looming over him and nuzzling at his neck searching for a nice expanse of skin to sink his teeth and suck a bruise into.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” Zolf asks.

“Of course, you’ll do the same?” Oscar cranes his neck to look at him.

“Aye.”

“People use a word for this sometimes, something to indicate they’d like to stop and talk about things, to signal that they should stop immediately, would you like to use one?”

Zolf swipes his tongue over one of Oscar’s shoulder blades and then meets his eyes. “That’s a good idea.”

“I’ll say ‘begonia’ if I want you to stop.”

“You a secret gardener?” Zolf teases.

Oscar smiles at him and shakes his head. “It should be something unlikely to come up in casual conversation.

“Not many flowers in the middle of the ocean,” Zolf shrugs, “I’ll say ‘daffodil’.”

Oscar nods and smiles, looking giddy and Zolf is going to enjoy ruining him. Oscar tests Zolf’s grip, weakly resisting the hold on his wrists. Zolf easily keeps them pinned and Oscar groans in delight.

Zolf reaches underneath them and wraps his free hand around Oscar’s cock, thumbing over the head, feeling the flex of his wrists in his grip. He pauses his attentions to Oscar’s prick, instead exploring further between his legs, fondling his balls and probing at his hole, still slick and open from earlier. He circles the rim of it and feels it flutter at his touch.

“I’m going to get up and get undressed now so I can fuck you, be good and hold still.”

Oscar whines, and oh isn’t that a lovely noise, but he does as he’s told, keeping his wrists crossed obediently over his head as Zolf steps out of his bottoms and uncorks the oil, spreading some over his fingers and sliding two into him easily. Oscar lets out a broken cry, but keeps his hands overhead, wringing them together with the effort.

“Good.” Zolf says, and Oscar’s hips buck at the praise.

Oscar took two of Zolf’s fingers easily enough that he gives him a third shortly thereafter and then a fourth, enjoying the squirming and the cries of the man under him. “Pretty thing, you are. Good, pretty thing.”

The expression in Oscar’s eyes is pleading and blissful and he’s flushed down to the middle of his back, breathing hard. Zolf gently works his fingers out of Oscar and slicks up his length, shivering slightly at his own touch.

Oscar spreads his legs easily for Zolf, making room for him to press the head of his cock to him and whimpering, pleading.

“Shhh.” Zolf soothes a hand up Oscar’s heated flank. “You’ve been good for me, I’ll give you what you want.”

Oscar muffles his sob in a pillow as Zolf presses the tip of his cock into him. Oscar’s body is warm and tight and the hot press of him on all sides of Zolf’s cock is exquisite. He wraps both hands around Oscar’s hips, keeping them still as he slowly bottoms out. He keeps one hand wrapped around the hip with the strange scar and the other he places flat on the middle of Oscar’s back, pressing him down and into the bed as he picks up the speed of his hips, urging Oscar’s cries louder and louder.

“Take it so well, look so good doing it.”

Oscar moans and writhes in Zolf’s grip. Zolf tightens the hand around his hip, hard enough to bruise, but it only increases the volume of Oscar’s cries. “Do you like that? Do you like when I tell you how pretty you are, how good you feel to fuck?”

“Gods, fuck _yes!”_ Oscar’s cries are getting to him more than anything else, even more than the tight heat of his body. Zolf chases his orgasm, setting a rapid pace and groaning with the effort of maintaining it. He loosens his grip on Oscar’s hip, letting him shove his hips backwards into every thrust.

“Come in me,” Oscar pleads, “Fill me up.”

That hits Zolf like a sack of bricks and it's all he needs to tumble into oblivion, coming harder and longer than he has in recent memory. He takes a moment to catch his breath and then flips Oscar over to swallow down his cock as the lantern begins to flicker with the last of its life. It doesn’t take long for Oscar to spill down his throat and cry his name. Zolf pushes the damp curls out of Oscar’s eyes and lies beside him, pulling Oscar to tuck into his side. Oscar waves a hand and they’re clean and the last of the oil in the lantern finally burns. Zolf falls asleep with Oscar’s head pillowed on his chest, finally putting the expansiveness of his bed to good use.

***

Oscar stirs to the sound of shouting and singing out on the main deck, and quickly realises that the sun is higher above the horizon than it usually is when he wakes. He smiles, feeling the tangle of much finer sheets around his legs and stretches, lazy, feeling warm like a cat in a sunbeam as he enjoys the soft plushness of Zolf’s very lovely bed. His body aches as he moves, in a hot, syrupy sort of way, and he revels in the memory of Zolf’s touch on his hips, the phantom pulse of Zolf’s cock inside him. It’s been a long, long time since he awoke like this, fucked well and indulging in it, not needing to get himself together before his lover of the evening wakes.

With a yawn hidden in the back of his hand, Oscar looks around for Zolf, finding the Captain sitting on a chair at his desk, using a magnifying glass to peer at an old and well-used map. He is almost struck breathless by the sight of him, sleep-rumpled and not trying to hide it. He’s not had the pleasure of seeing Zolf Smith at rest before, and he thrills with the recognition that he might get to do so more often, now. Now that they’ve committed to… whatever this is.

“Morning.” Zolf says, and his voice is so thick and gruff that Oscar feels a remembered shiver down his spine.

Zolf frowns, clears his throat and doesn’t look over, even when Oscar injects a little moan into his next stretch. Oscar _knows_ how good he looks like this, laid out on a bed with nothing to protect his modesty, his body still wearing the marks of the previous evening before he prestidigitates the most noticeable away.

“You sing in your sleep, you know that?”

Oscar startles, not sure if the feeling that floods him is warming or chilling. He’s normally a light sleeper. The last time anyone pointed out his sleep habits was too long ago and purposely pushed to the back of his mind. Eventually, his body settles on the realisation that it’s nice, actually. That he felt so safe in Zolf’s arms that he was able to truly _rest_.

“Well what do you expect of a man when he’s been fucked so delightfully?” Oscar hums, dragging a hand up his belly, over his chest. Still no look from Zolf. “You know, I thought your hands were best suited to healing but consider me thoroughly corrected.”

Zolf scoffs, though Oscar notices a heat flood over what he can see of the Captain’s cheeks. “Don’t go spreading it around.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He replies, finding himself oddly mournful for being deprived of the sight of Zolf’s eyes. “But if anyone sees me wince today while I’m taking my daily turn about the deck, they might be able to tell.”

Without speaking, Zolf gets to his feet and crosses the room to the bed, putting a hand smack in the middle of his stomach. It’s not a tender touch, not really, accompanied by a muttering and a warmth spreading through his body that he’s more than a little familiar with by now. Oscar frowns, not ignorant of the way Zolf isn’t quite looking at him, nor the way that he is ready to walk back to his desk before Oscar brings a hand up to catch his wrist and hold him in place.

“I didn’t say I wanted to be healed.”

“Oh.” Zolf says, unsteady now, wavering in whatever odd decision he’s made that stops him from making eye contact. “Well. Thought it might make life easier today.”

“I’d really rather have remembered the feeling of your cock inside me whenever I bent over Zolf, but I suppose there’s always another chance.”

With a scoff, Zolf moves to catch up his jacket from the end of the bed and pulls it on, setting it flat against his chest and rearranging his beard so that the beads all fall in a particular aesthetic pattern. Oscar smiles at the sight of him, and the knowledge that this fearsome pirate captain took him to bed last night and fulfilled all his most wonderful fantasies. Truly, his luck is on the up.

“Right. I’ve got my duties to attend to. You can stay here if you want.” Zolf says, and there’s a coolness to his voice that doesn’t quite suit. “Put some clothes on if you go back to your room, you don’t want everyone seeing…” He trails off, the line between his brows deeper now. “Well. Anyway. Be seeing you, Wilde.”

“ _Zolf_.” Oscar almost laughs, confused and alarmed in equal measure at the captain’s utter lack of bedside manner even now. “I can’t convince you to stay? Take the day off? Ravish me some more?”

The corner of Zolf’s mouth quirks, but that’s all he gets. “Got things to do Wilde. Plans to make. We’re only a day out of the next port.”

And with that he’s gone, the door shutting behind him with a quiet bang that echoes around in Oscar’s empty head. He can’t believe… It’s almost as if Zolf regrets what happened, which… well, that could make a strange sort of sense, but he was pretty sure that Zolf was entirely and enthusiastically on board with everything they did, everything they explored together. Something has changed, though, and it rankles at him that he can’t figure out what it is. Not enough for Zolf to refuse any chance of a repeat performance but enough to make him stilted, stifled and cautious.

Oscar hates it.

It takes him a good half hour to work up the desire to stop thinking about everything. He pulls the covers up to his chin and chews on the nail of his thumb as he thinks, desperate and slightly uncomfortable, over the short instance of their conversation. Zolf’s strange insistence against and general discomfort about looking at him. The uninvited healing. The little reminder that port was only a day away.

He’d genuinely forgotten, in the space of a few short hours, that he was meant to be wanting to leave. To move on. It’s only taken a stay in the warmth of Zolf’s arms to make him reconsider whether he needs to leave at all. He’s making friends. He’s safe. He’s found himself a place to rest and a pair of arms to embrace him… hasn’t he?

Oscar gets out of the bed and pulls his cold and rumpled sleep clothes from their abandonment on the floor, putting them on his freshly healed body, nary a tug or an ache to be found. With a small sigh, Oscar waves his hand until they change into something more _him_ , a brightly coloured clashing ensemble that he hopes will hide the warring uncertainty of his thoughts from all he encounters.

The captain’s cabin door is tucked away and he manages to hide his exit from the majority of the crew. He decides to take his daily walk a little early, hoping the sea air will clear his head.

It does not succeed.

He is too caught up in trying to catch sight of Zolf, who seems to have taken a leaf out of Sasha’s book and hidden himself completely from Oscar’s view at all times. Eventually, when he feels the sunlight start to make his eyes ache, he decides to duck back inside his cabin instead. Perhaps he should start adopting the fashions of the crew instead - he’s sure he could make the eyeliner look good, at the very least.

It’s a good couple of hours later and he’s re-reading a page in his book for the umpteenth time when his door opens, Sasha poking her head inside.

“Oi.”

“Sasha, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She narrows her eyes, slipping into the room and leaning back against the door in a fluid motion. “What did you do to the Captain? He’s being all… weird. And not in a good way.”

Oscar smiles, setting down his book. It’s not a nice smile, but Sasha doesn’t seem to pick up on it, for which he’s endlessly grateful. She’s done nothing to deserve his bad moods.

“I assure you Sasha, I have done nothing to the Captain.”

Her eyes stay narrowed, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay. So what did he do to you.”

“Oh so very many lovely things Sasha.”

“Firstly, no. Secondly, never again.” She shudders, pushing off the door and coming over to sit on the bed beside him. Eventually, she speaks again, in a quieter voice. “Was it that bad?”

Oscar laughs, tipping his head back and bringing up a hand to cover his eyes. “No, Sasha. Without going into the sort of detail that I don’t believe you’d appreciate, it was decidedly not _bad_.”

“So why's he out there pacing around like someone's pissed in his porridge?” Sasha asks. “I've not seen him like this for years. “

Oscar blows out a slow breath. “I genuinely don't know and at this point I'm afraid to ask. I don't want to jeopardise what we've been building.” He sighs. “You must think me foolish.”

“Nah, mate.” Sasha says quickly, pulling a dagger out of the sheath on her thigh. “I get it. Most of the times when the Captain's in one of his moods we just keep out of his way too. But you're worried you're the reason, right?”

“Sasha, I _know_ I'm the reason. I just don't know what one of a possible hundred things it is that I did.”

“Okay. Crazy thought.” She says, turning to face him. She's smiling that smile he knows by now spells danger. “Ask him.”

“You're right.” Oscar deadpans. “That _is_ crazy.”

“Didn’t think you were a coward, Wilde.”

It’s a cheap shot, and Sasha knows it, but it’s also pretty much the only thing that was guaranteed to work on him. She can see that her words have hit home, looks uncommonly pleased with herself as she presses up from the bed and slips the knife away with a small flourish. What a valuable First Mate she must be for Zolf. Insightful without being smug, considerate without being nosy.

“I’ll send him in, shall I?”

Oscar sighs, getting up from the bed too. He feels exhausted, and not in the lovely, lazy way he felt this morning. It feels like his brain has run a marathon in the past couple of hours, leaving him wrung out and emotionally stifled.

“I’ll wait in his cabin. It’s nicer than here.”

Sasha smiles, but doesn’t say what he expects she’s really thinking as she proceeds out of his room and off into the early afternoon sun and he moves the opposite way, letting himself into Zolf’s cabin and setting about tidying the bed that he left all messy in his morning’s confusion. Once it’s straightened and tucked down, he snatches a random Campbell from Zolf’s shelf and sits down to wait, hoping that this one will at least hold his attention a little better.

***

That morning, Zolf wakes with the sun streaming in through a gap in his curtains. There is a tangled mess of hair under his chin and across his chest and a pleasantly warm body tucked into his side. Wilde is passed out, face slack in sleep. He looks younger like this, unbothered and carefree in a passive way. He smiles to himself. He’s now seen what Wilde’s face looks like relaxed and blissful in two very different contexts. The sun is a bit higher in the sky than he’s used to seeing when he wakes, but he feels no great urge to disentangle his limbs from his companion’s just yet. Gods but he didn’t know this was something he wanted. Sharing heat and comfort and a bed, sharing them with Wilde.

Wilde shifts and smiles in his sleep, humming something soft and incomprehensible. Zolf strokes a hand through his hair and Wilde hums again and rolls off of him and onto his back and into the sunlight filtering into the room, throwing some of the covers off his body and tangling them in his legs. The sunlight illuminates the reds in his hair, and Zolf can see all of the scars littered across his chest and ribs, some faint and old, some fresher and still pink. His eyes tace down Oscar’s torso down to his hip, and he finally gets a good look at the strangely shaped scar he’d felt the night before. It’s gold, and it glitters in the sun like a drawing on his skin, but Zolf knows the edges of it are raised and scarred, burned into his skin—a brand.

A brand he’s been taught to fear and abhor the shape of.

Every muscle in Zolf’s body tenses and he jumps out of bed before he can think better of it.

Wilde stays asleep, unaware that anything has transpired. Zolf traces the curves of the dragon carved into his hip, sees the bruises in the shape of his fingers marring its surface and he backs away and slumps heavily into his desk chair. There’s no questioning what the mark is or what it signifies, the only thing to question is how he feels about it. He turns to his desk. He needs to stop looking at Wilde, it’s not helping him parse the difficult swirl of emotions in his head. He picks up his magnifying glass and flattens out the map and begins on his plans for making port and thereafter. Soon enough the rustling of sheets alerts him to Oscar’s waking. He doesn’t look at him. He avoids looking at him through the stumbling conversation that follows and all but flees from the cabin, stubbornly shutting his emotions down, going into a kind of crisis mode until he can put all of the pieces of what he’s feeling in front of him to make a coherent picture.

Being away from the man does precious little to help his situation. He’s gruff with the crew, short with Sasha and he sees the surprise and irritation plain on her face. She makes herself scarce the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. The waters are calm today and there is little to no wind and it infuriates him. The weather has been terrible all month and when all he wants to do is make it into port suddenly it's calm and pristine. He wants to look out on the water and see the turmoil, the churning and roiling within himself mirrored in the ocean he’s always felt so connected to. He doesn’t often climb up to the crow’s nest--it’s more Sasha’s domain than his, and it takes him longer than he likes to get up the rope ladder--but it's got the best view of the water and no one will think to look for him up there. He sits on the floor of the nest and folds his legs in, slumping down so that no one can see him from below.

He’d known Oscar was some sort of spy, he just hadn’t been expecting to be confronted with the brand, with the mark of the dragons. He wonders what Oscar’s done in the past, what deeds he’s carried out in the name of the dragons-- _for_ the dragons. He clenches and unclenches his fists. Meritocratic agents had been indirectly responsible for the death of his brother, at least as responsible as Zolf holds himself to be. He doesn’t want to think about that. _He doesn’t think about that_. It’s all getting lost and tangled and he doesn’t know how to sort through it but he wants to try.

He doesn’t hear Sasha until she’s right in front of him, standing on the ladder and leaning over the side.

Zolf sighs and lifts his head off his knees. “How’d you know I was up here, then?”

“Process of elimination, mate.” Sasha shrugs. “What’s got you in this mood then? Know he was in your cabin last night and now you won’t talk to him and you’ve been hiding up here all day.”

“He’s a meritocratic agent, he’s got a brand!”

Sasha stares at him, face blank and uncomprehending.

“You understand what that means?”

Sasha looks at him like a petulant child that isn’t grasping the core concept of something very simple. “Right, so he worked for the meritocrats, what’s the big deal?”

Zolf blinks.

“My past ain’t pretty either, I mean I s’pose it’s alright for a pirate, but I’ve done plenty I ain’t proud of.”

“You knew.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah, got to talkin’ and I mentioned Barret. He knew who Barret was, helped bring him down even.”

“He’s done some good things and he’s done some bad things, but it was a job right? Didn’t you ever do stuff for a job even when you didn’t agree with it?”

Zolf's stomach twists uncomfortably and he thinks of the Navy and, again, of Feryn.

“And he ran away, when he couldn’t do it anymore, he left!”

Zolf thinks of how he found him, bleeding, starving, eyes dull and lifeless, closing as Zolf smashed the lock to his cell open. That answers the question of why his previous transportation had turned on him. They could get more money selling him back to the meritocrats, or to the highest bidder. Plenty willing to pay to get their hands on an agent and wring them for information.

“Oi!” Sasha shouts, rousing him out of his own head. “What’s the big deal?”

What _is_ the big deal? “I--I don’t know.” Zolf stammers, and Sasha throws both of her hands up in frustration, keeping her balance on the rope ladder easily, even as the ship slowly rocks with the gentle waves.

She begins her descent. “Well he’s holed up in your cabin when you sort it out.”

Zolf lets out a deep and ragged breath and allows himself the luxury of letting his emotions spill over as a single tear rolls down his cheek. He hasn’t thought of Feryn in a long time. He picks that jagged piece of his soul up and examines it. He’d always been afraid to, afraid the sharp edges would be too painful to hold. He picks up all the scattered, ugly pieces to the tangle of emotions he’s feeling and begins the careful work of sorting through them. Whatever this is with Oscar, whatever it has the potential to be, he wants to give it the chance it deserves. He lets himself grieve quietly for a time and then thinks again to the older wounds on Wilde’s body, the ones that had only just started to heal before Zolf had found him.

Zolf hadn’t seen the brand before, Wilde had always had his pants on when Zolf had checked on him before, or the light had been low enough he hadn’t been able to make out the gold of the dragon on his hip, but he doesn’t think that Wilde had been trying to hide it from him. He hadn’t been trying to trick him. He’d run away, he’d told Zolf as much, not in so many words, but he’d conveyed that he couldn’t do it anymore, he’d reached a breaking point and he’d acted on it, knowing it might kill him. _And I feel safe. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere I feel safe._ Zolf stands stiffly and makes his way slowly down. Oscar is one more thing the world would have taken from him, only this time he’s managed to hold on, managed to keep it safe, make him feel safe. He isn’t going to jeopardize that feeling, isn’t going to take it away or taint it. Not now, maybe not ever again. Not if he can help it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar and Zolf talk some things through and pick up some exciting items shopping in port.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had a mind of its own.

“You’re a Meritocrat.”

Oscar looks up at the sound of Zolf’s voice, feels the bottom drop out of his stomach at the words left floating on the air between them. This is it. Obviously he knew this moment was coming, logically it is an impossibility that it would have not come out, once he and Zolf fell into each other’s arms. His mind just hadn’t quite been able to put the facts together throughout the day, too scared or too tired to do so in the face of Zolf’s sudden silence. Zolf has now seen him in the altogether, in full daylight. Of course he saw the brand. That’s what got Oscar into trouble on the last ship, after all. He had just hoped things might be different here. That he wouldn’t have to worry about hiding the darker parts of his background.

That Zolf wouldn’t want to make a profit off of him, too.

“I was.” He says, impressed by the measured tone of voice he manages when his pulse is throbbing heavy in his ears.

“That’s why you were on that other ship. That’s why they had you all bound up.”

Oscar sighs, crossing his legs in front of him and laying his palms on his thighs. “You’re very insightful Captain. How much are you thinking you can get for me? I believe the other crew had very high hopes.”

“What?” Zolf scowls. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not selling you off.”

Oscar can only blink, surprised by the ferocity of Zolf’s anger. The captain walks closer, standing in front of him all warmth and irritation and handsome, handsome strength. He can’t believe it was only a matter of hours ago that Zolf had him pinned to a bed and begging for it. How many more things in his life are the dragons going to tarnish?

“You told me you felt safe here. You are safe here.” Zolf says, quieter now. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about you being a Meritocrat, Oscar. I just want us to be honest with each other.”

With a swallow, Oscar drops his gaze from Zolf’s for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I wasn’t trying to hide my allegiances. Former allegiances, I hasten to amend. I haven’t been with the Meritocrats for several months now, but in truth it’s been years since I truly believed myself to be on the ‘right side’ of things.”

“Yet you continued to work for them all that time?”

Oscar twists his fingers together, worrying his thumbnail along the side of his palm. “I did. I’m not proud of it.”

Zolf takes one step forward. Another. Oscar can almost feel the warmth of his body again. “Sasha said you spoke to her about Barret.”

It makes him feel a little unsteady to know that Sasha had needed to intercede with Zolf as well as him. It reveals more than he expects Zolf realises - he now knows that the stalwart captain needed Sasha’s counsel as much as he did.

“Yes. The downfall of Barret Racket was something I was involved in. It was a slow, careful dismantling of his empire until he was a broken, useless shell of a man. And a large part of why I didn’t abandon the meritocracy earlier.” He smiles, looking up at Zolf with a cool amusement. “Don’t worry, I didn’t fuck him too.”

Zolf looks hurt by that, which doesn’t feel quite as good as he imagined it would. It’s an easy defense, to laugh at his nature, to imply that every encounter he’s had is a meaningless, frivolous little affair. It’s easy, because it used to be true. Until very recently, it was his only truth. His protection against being discovered, his protection against wanting to be better.

Most people assumed he didn’t really care about anything except for himself, and really isn’t that the perfect cover for an altruistic spy? Because actually caring, actually wanting to do good was stupid, was going to hurt you more than anything else, was going to get you killed. And yes, he might’ve resigned himself to his fate a long time ago, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight against it until the last.

“As soon as I made the decision that I was going to leave, I also had to wrestle with the fact that I was likely going to die doing so.” He says quietly. “I still haven’t quite shaken that fear. As evidenced by my reaction to your arrival at my cell.”

“It doesn’t strike me as an easy organisation to leave.” Zolf says, and Oscar has to chew at the inside of his cheek to stifle a small sigh when Zolf moves to sit beside him.

“Why do you think I threw my lot in with one of the most notorious pirate crews sailing out of England’s green and pleasant lands? I wasn’t exactly rich with options. I needed to get out and I couldn’t afford to wait for someone I could trust.” He sighs, turning one of his hands palm up. After a moment, Zolf places his over the top and Oscar smiles, threading their fingers together. “I wish I had, now. But then I wouldn’t have got my romance novel style rescue by a handsome pirate so maybe it has all worked out precisely as it was meant to.”

Zolf snorts, leaning his head into Oscar’s shoulder and for a moment, silence reigns. It is not as uncomfortable as it should by rights be. But he still can’t bring himself to assume that everything’s going to work itself out. Not yet.

“I apologise for how I reacted this morning.”

“Darling, I’m sure it was entirely justified. What, pray tell, did the Meritocrats take from you?”

“My brother.”

He startles, hard enough to dislodge Zolf’s head from his arm. Turning, he takes Zolf’s hand and cradles it in both of his, his eyes wide as he stares at the way Zolf’s head is hanging, heavy with the weight of this admission

“Gods, Zolf, I—.”

“Don’t. Don’t apologise, or whatever. It wasn’t anything to do with you. I’ve got my revenge, I don’t need any bloody payment or anything.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “My brother was killed on a mission that he didn’t need to go on, and I didn’t step in in time to stop it. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me, and I’m already plenty good enough at that.”

“Zolf.” Oscar says, very quiet and very timid. “I don’t want to be a constant reminder of your loss. I don’t want you to remember the dragons every time you touch me.”

“That's not what's going to happen. I've made my peace.” He smiles a little darkly and Oscar feels himself shiver, though if it's through arousal or fear he's not able to discern. “You don't belong to them anymore.”

Oscar closes his eyes at the gently firm tone of possession that accompanies that statement.

“I've always worked better under a steady hand.”

“Good thing I can give you that.”

With a soft whine, Oscar reaches up to hold Zolf's face and leans in, pressing their mouths together with more than a little desperation. It’s all too easy to lose himself in the heat of the embrace, in the forceful probing of Zolf’s tongue and the easy way he ends up on his back, Zolf sprawled over his chest. The weight of Zolf there is enough to settle Oscar’s rabbit-fast heartbeat, one hand tangled up in his hair and the other pressing to the side of his throat, Zolf’s short nails biting into the skin there, right over the bruise that had been healed away that morning.

He gives over to Zolf completely, feels the quick response of his body to the act of submission. Zolf smirks into their kiss, teeth catching at Oscar’s lower lip as he presses up to rock his backside over the growing length of Oscar’s cock. The relief of this moment is so great that Oscar throws his head back into the pillows and moans, hands settling on Zolf’s hips and holding his lover in place so that he can thrust up, hungry and greedy, now.

“You’re gonna wake half the ship.” Zolf chastises, light and amused. “‘M gonna have to gag you if you keep that up.”

“ _Please_.”

It trips out of him before he can stop it, and Zolf’s not expecting such a ready agreement if his face is anything to go by. Zolf leans back down, cupping Oscar’s face in both hands and staring at him with serious focus deep in those lovely green eyes.

“You sure? Really? Cos you wouldn’t be able to speak, to cast. Your voice—.”

“Is my power.” Oscar agrees quietly. “And I’m good with giving that up. To you. Only you.”

Zolf’s eyes do that thing he loves so much, going all dark and hungry, stormy like the sea hasn’t been for a few days. He’s holding his very own storm and his port in it all at once, and grins into the kiss that Zolf lays against his lips.

“M’not going to bind your hands. If anything happens that you don’t like, click twice.” Zolf says, not letting go of his face. “Show me.”

Oscar slowly stretches his arms above his head, crossing his wrists as if they were bound. Zolf narrows his eyes, but can’t stop the sides of his mouth quirking with badly suppressed amusement. Then, with barely any flourish, Oscar gives two quick snaps of his fingers that ring clear in the otherwise quiet room.

“Good. Good boy.” Zolf smirks at the fierce shiver that inspires. “So good for me, Oscar. Stay here all still for me.”

Oscar watches as Zolf wanders across to his wardrobe, rummages around inside for something and smiles as he pulls back with a worn but pristine looking white ascot. If Oscar didn’t know any better he’d say it was part of a uniform, but that’s a question for another time. He opens his mouth and smiles when Zolf fits the material between his teeth, then lifts his head obligingly for Zolf to knot it, mindful of his hair.

It is more power than he’s given someone over him for some time. He’s not here to play the unwilling wretch or desperate victim to a ponce with too big an ego to think critically about the entire situation. He’s submitting to Zolf, as completely and thoroughly as he can. No defenses. No tricks. Safe in the knowledge that if he clicked, Zolf would immediately stop. It thrills through him, and he can do nothing but watch as Zolf strips him, quick and keen, dragging his clothing off and fitting a warm palm around his prick before he can even catch his breath.

“I’m going to fuck you. Slowly.” Zolf says, so matter of fact that it shouldn’t hit Oscar right in his gut the way it does. “But first.”

He thinks he’s going to get the pleasure of Zolf’s mouth around his cock for a second time, but Zolf diverts at the last moment to set his mouth over Oscar’s brand instead, sucking hard at the skin as the golden glow melts and sparkles around his mouth. Oscar cries out, a mixture of relief and desperation warring in his belly at the sight of it, at the solid, rhythmic pull as Zolf sets to bruising up the skin with his lips and tongue. It’s always been sensitive, in that odd way that scars can get, but it’s never felt like this, like it’s connected right to his cock, every aching pain there making him harder, his back bowing as he strains against the need to stay still, to take, to be owned anew.

Zolf pulls back far enough to look at it, smoothing his thumb heavy over the brand and smirking at the flush of blood he’s pulled to the surface. He dives back in and Oscar groans around the gag, stifled and exultant all at once. It hurts, but in a way that he’s always liked. He could happily allow Zolf to do this all day, every day, to replace every memory he has of Guivres with a better thought, a knowledge that Zolf’s his and he’s Zolf’s and nothing he’s done before in his life can even touch that.

He whines when Zolf drags his fingers over the underside of his cock, shaking his head and snapping his fingers quickly. In an instant Zolf sits back, hands folded over his knees and concern writ clear across his face.

“Too close.” He mutters around the gag, feeling a warmth through him at the way Zolf’s worry melts into soft, gentle amusement.

“You were gonna come from that?”

Oscar rolls his eyes, flexing his hands but not bringing them down, enjoying the warm ache that’s starting to settle in his shoulders.

Zolf smirks, all too pleased with himself as he gets off the bed and starts to strip. Oh, but he really does have one of the most delicious cocks Oscar’s ever had the pleasure of being split open around, thick and heavy, flushed with blood and slick at the tip just from the simple act of bruising up Oscar’s brand.

He pours some oil across both hands and then down between Oscar’s cheeks, probing at Oscar’s hole and pushing inside easily despite the morning’s healing. Oscar loves this part almost most of all, the tender opening of his body around Zolf’s fingers, the way Zolf watches his face for every reaction instead of greedily staring at the disappearance of fingers deep into his body. He feels weak with it. At being Zolf’s focus.

Zolf’s other hand works to slick up his cock. Oscar knows he’s not ready for the full girth of it but he’s too desperate to wait, hooking his leg around Zolf’s back and urging him to move forward. Zolf chuckles, reaching back for Oscar’s leg and forcing his foot down onto the bed. “Don’t make me tie your legs, too.”

Oscar moans, more for effect than anything else, but it breaks around a high cry when Zolf leans in, pushing the head of his cock to Oscar’s hole and slowly, so slowly moving inside. It’s a real stretch, and Oscar whimpers with it, fighting the urge to tense up as Zolf takes him apart. He gasps when Zolf’s hand slips up his thigh to press the heel of it into his brand, the other fisting white-knuckled in the sheets.

“Gods, Oscar.” He breathes, shoving forward and stilling once he’s bottomed out. His eyes roam over Oscar’s entire body, hungrily drinking it all in. The way his lips stretch around the gag. The flushed, heaving expanse of his chest, the brand, the thick, blood-flushed curve of his cock and down to where Zolf’s seated inside him, his hole stretched tight and glistening.

When he starts to move, Oscar bites down on the gag and gives over to it entirely, his body Zolf’s to play with. He lets Zolf rearrange his legs, palm his prick, and take him apart, thrust by glorious thrust. He feels tears pooling in his eyes and blinks them away, twin streams of wetness flowing into his hair.

“Look at you.”

Oscar preens, forcing his eyes open to look at Zolf’s face. Zolf’s eyes are fixed on him, shining with an intense sense of possession that makes Oscar want to roll over and present himself. He stares, lost.

Taken.

Owned.

Zofl gives a hungry grunt, shoving forward once, twice more and shuddering as he comes, Oscar clenching around him to encourage every last drop of spend. He stills, nails deep in the small curve of Oscar’s belly, heaving in air and smiling, smiling so widely that Oscar feels his heart skip a beat.

He grits his teeth again when Zolf pulls out, and moans free and loud at the way Zolf’s eyes instantly fall between his legs, watching the twitching emptiness of his hole with a broad grin and a dirty laugh. He waits, and Oscar gasps, knowing that he’s waiting for the evidence of his claim. Eventually, Zolf gives a small tut and traces one finger around Oscar’s hole and then in, crooking into the heat of him.

He’s so stretched out that he feels Zolf slip three fingers into him easily, watching through lidded eyes when Zolf thrusts them deep and searching.

“Can you take four?” Zolf asks, though he clearly doesn’t expect an answer. “I think you can.”

Oscar all but howls at the combination of Zolf’s fingers stretching him out and the warmth of Zolf’s other hand wrapping around his straining prick. It almost feels painful, the mix of sensation and the desire pooling in his belly and the knowledge that Zolf won’t rest until Oscar’s coming apart. He feels the gag stretching and forcing his tongue down as he swallows in desperate pulls of air.

“You look so good, Oscar. So full. Four fingers fucking my come out of you.” He snarls, eyes full of a dangerous sparkle. “Might keep you like this every time. Naked and feeling every bit of it drip out of you. Might even plug you up so that none of it can escape.”

Oscar whines, the thought of it making him shudder. A string of please, Zolf, please, please trips from his mouth but is muffled in the gag. Zolf smirks, thumb rubbing a gentle pressure to Oscar’s frenulum, sensing what his words are doing and chasing that. He’s so close, so close and it feels like he’s going to burn up with it, like he’s going to die right here at the hands of a handsome pirate captain. The greatest of ironies.

“Come on, Oscar. Come for me.”

The command behind it is what undoes him, and he comes in slow rolling pulses, over Zolf’s fist as Zolf works him steadily through the orgasm. It feels like it lasts forever, sparks dancing along his skin, heat flaring out from his belly in waves until he’s laid limp and gasping on the bed.

He’s only faintly aware of Zolf moving, one hand settling behind his neck and lifting him gently so that the knot of the gag can be undone and removed. The edges of his mouth feel a little sore and his shoulders have seized up when he goes to move them. Oscar winces, then shoots Zolf a stern look as he comes close again, one hand held out ready.

“What did we talk about this morning?”

Zolf laughs quietly, holding both hands up in defeat. “Alright, your choice. Don’t whinge tomorrow when you’re sore walking around port.”

Oscar swallows, casting a quick prestidigitation over them both and reckoning with one of his many thoughts of the day. Might as well raise it now, when they’re both sex-drunk and high on endorphins.

“Zolf. What would you say if I said that I didn’t want to leave. Not yet, anyway.”

Zolf hums, shifting him over on the bed and curling up into his side. “Let’s see how you feel about that tomorrow, yeah?”

“Zolf I am entirely certain I won’t change my mind.” He laughs, tipping his chin down when Zolf grumbles and leans up for a kiss. “Especially not if you keep doing that.”

Oscar falls into slumber with his arms tight around Zolf, a sort of bone-deep satisfaction melting over him and visions of maybe convincing Zolf to show him around the port dancing happily through his mind.

***

Zolf wakes to the familiar sound of rain splattering against the deck and the walls of his cabin. He stretches and Oscar mumbles and tucks in closer to him, warm and comfortable in his arms. Zolf strokes his hair, pushing it out of his face so he can take in the relaxed contentment plain in his features. Zolf pulls the covers up around them and tightens his arms around Oscar, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead before allowing himself to fall back to sleep. There’s time before they need to be up still. He thinks about what Oscar said last night, about not leaving. He holds Oscar a little tighter and imagines what it might be like to keep him, what it might be like to wake up like this every day.

When Zolf next opens his eyes it is to Oscar’s smiling face gazing up at him, eyes bleary with sleep, head pillowed against his chest. Zolf smiles back, knowing how open his face must be, how much he has to be giving away. The dark circles under his eyes are slowly receding, looking less and less like bruises.

Oscar rolls onto his back and stretches his arms over head with a groan.

“Sore?” Zolf asks.

“A bit.” Oscar admits.

“I can help with that.” He sees the hesitation and rushes to reassure him that he doesn’t want to take the ache away, just ease it. “Not gonna heal it, just give you a bit of a rub down, loosen the muscles.”

Oscar bites his bottom lip. “Okay.”

Zolf shuffles over to kiss him, slow and languid, the pattering of the rain and the early morning crew the only sounds in the early morning.

He pulls away and takes in the relaxed set of his lover's jaw, the openness of his eyes. “Lie on your stomach.”

Oscar rolls over shoving his face in a pillow and crossing his arms under it. Zolf moves to straddle his back and sets to work on his shoulders, digging his knuckles into the lean muscles there. Oscar groans as Zolf’s fingers work, as the tension in his muscles gradually melts away under his touch. Zolf leans forward to press a kiss in between Oscar’s shoulder blades. Oscar turns his head and smiles at Zolf, content and satisfied. Zolf runs his hands over Oscar’s back, kneading the muscles as he goes until he’s happy with the relaxed sprawl of the man beneath him.

Oscar turns over, groaning softly and holding his arms out for Zolf. Zolf goes and angles his head to capture Oscar’s lips in a kiss as he lies against him, mouths and tongues moving against each other as the rain continues to fall outside. They pull apart eventually, breathing slightly labored and lips swollen and slick. Zolf pushes himself up and steps outs of bed, gathering his clothing and working on setting his beard to rights.

Wilde watches him and although Zolf doesn’t quite understand the hunger in his eyes, it makes his skin tingle pleasantly.

“Come into port with me.” The words stumble out of his mouth with such surety it startles him. He turns around and mumbles. “It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

He can hear Oscar’s smile. “And you promise to take me back to the ship with you? Back to sleep in your bed and your arms?”

Zolf blushes at the earnestness and how his chest tightens in response, turning back around to meet the man’s eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

Oscar’s expression softens and he stretches, getting to his feet. He walks over to Zolf, bends to place a kiss to his forehead and holds his face tenderly in one hand, long fingers splayed over his heated cheek. “It is.”

Zolf flounders for something to say, staring at Wilde’s bare and bruised chest in an attempt to hide just how furiously he’s blushing. “Well you best be getting dressed then. You remember what I said about streaking on my ship.”

Wilde pulls away, musical laughter filling Zolf’s ears and stretching his face into a dopey grin. He puts his clothes on and stands in the center of the room, staring, seemingly waiting for Zolf’s attention. Zolf makes a ‘get on with it’ motion with his hand.

Wilde waves a hand and Zolf watches as his clothes transform and the man standing before him is suddenly clad in a flowing white shirt with long sleeves and a deep V tucked into brown leather pants so tight it looks like they might have been painted on save for the wrinkles in the fabric bunched in the creases of his thighs. They make his legs look ridiculously long and Zolf takes a moment to look him up and down rather unsubtly. He makes a pretty picture. When Zolf’s inspection takes his gaze back up to his face he sees Wilde’s given himself a dark, thick line of kohl around each eye, making the blue of his eyes unfairly vibrant. He’s smiling smugly, like a great big cat that’s polished off an entire saucer of cream.

“You proud of yourself, then?” Zolf grumbles.

Wilde’s grin only widens in response.

“Are those real?” Zolf asks as he walks over to finger the sleeve of his shirt. It feels real enough.

“They are now. Can only do it the once though, can’t change them back.”

“Hmm.” Zolf makes a point of looking him slowly up and down again, watching and delighting at the effect it has on his breathing.

“They didn’t fit you right before, think I like them better now.” Zolf runs a hand over his hip, the one he knows is a mess of mottled and overlapping bruises with a brand barely visible and unrecognizable beneath, before sliding it over the rise of his arse and squeezing.

“C’mon then.” Zolf takes one of Oscar’s hands in his and laces their fingers together, tugging him out of the cabin and into the rain. Oscar busies himself keeping out of the way while Zolf makes sure everything is in order for them to make port. When he’s assured everything is just as it should be he stands beside Oscar, who has adopted a casual stance lounging against the railing, long legs crossed in front of him. His hair is damp and curling, little droplets of water clinging to some of the strands. The kohl around his eyes is still immaculate.

“I’ve got some stuff to see if we can offload and not much else to do personally, so if there’s anything you want while we’re here, there’s definitely time for it.”

Oscar leans in close, and his shirt is damp enough that the thin fabric has become a bit transparent in the rain. “I desire nothing more than your company.” The affection in his eyes and threaded through his voice is more than Zolf thought could ever be levied at him. He knows Oscar’s voice is magic, but he doesn’t even have to use an ounce of power to make Zolf feel it.

Wilde’s smile turns wry and Zolf wants to have an endless catalog of all of the different kinds of smiles the man wears in his head forever.

“Though I would very much appreciate a nice writing quill. And perhaps a journal.”

“I think we can manage that.”

The rain has calmed to a light drizzle by the time they pull into port and dock and Zolf steadfastly and stubbornly ignores the poorly hidden but good natured snickering and ribbing from the crew as he tugs Oscar down the gangway by the hand, followed closely by Sasha.

Sasha breaks off as soon as they’re on land, giving Zolf a nod and turning away.

He calls after her, “Going to see Grizz, then?” His tone is light and teasing.

“You know he hates that!” She calls, not even bothering to turn back around.

Her feet are moving with a determination belying her eagerness at seeing her friend, maybe lover—Zolf’s not really sure—after months apart.

“The pub at sundown, don’t be late!” Zolf shouts at her back. She waves him off and keeps striding off, moving faster walking than most people could jogging.

Oscar squeezes his hand. “Well it certainly seems as though she’s got places to be.”

“Mm. Off to see her best friend.” Zolf tilts his head, “maybe her lover, I’m not sure, I’ve never really dug.”

“Perhaps they are neither, or both—something in between. Some amalgamation of the two that defies labels.”

That feels right. Oscar gets a gleam in his eye that Zolf feels the urge to quash, knowing what Sasha’s wrath feels like having been on the other side of it. “She does not take kindly to being teased.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Zolf tugs him along, enjoying the warmth of their hands together against the chill of the light rain and they turn left, away from the dock and parallel to the shore, away from the bustling center of town. He doesn’t frequent this part of the little port town often, but he knows where there’s a little row of shops that definitely has one that will sell paper products and quills. They walk hand in hand as the wooden walkway turns into cobbled streets. Many of the street side stalls have been tucked away out of the rain but there are a few merchants with some sturdy awnings braving the drizzle, selling jewels and trinkets.

The bell jingles as they walk through the door to the shop that Zolf thinks might have what Oscar’s looking for. Zolf releases his hand and lets him roam up and down the aisles, content to watch the excitement on his face as he fingers different feathers and runs his hands over the covers of different journals. It doesn’t take Oscar long to find precisely what he wants, and they walk away with a bag full of a leather bound journal, a pot of black ink, and a quill with two different nibs.

They walk up the street and Oscar gravitates towards the pink shop near the opposite corner.

“Aphrodite’s Treasure?”

Zolf clears his throat. He’s never been in there but everyone knows that’s where you go to find a very specific type of item. Zolf finds himself being pulled towards the shop door and he puts up no resistance, feeling comfortable with Oscar leading him, striding confidently forward. A bell jingles as they enter and they’re greeted by a tall—taller than Oscar—female orc dressed entirely in pink. Pink is a color that features heavily throughout the rest of the shop and one of the first things Zolf’s eyes fall upon is a bright pink and rather sizable dildo that’s part of a larger, colorful display of the things in a variety of sizes and shapes. He can feel his ears going red.

“Hello!” The woman calls. “I’m Azu, please let me know if I can help you find anything and may Aphrodite bless you!” She smiles widely at them and resumes her task of apparently capping vials of oil.

Oscar squeezes his hand and smiles with a kind of manic glee. “Oh, this is delightful.”

Zolf looks up at Oscar, then across at the sheer array of items in front of him. There’s so much here that he’s never even seen before, let alone considered as a potential part of any relationship, but now that he’s standing here with Oscar’s hand warm in his, suddenly his mind is working a mile a minute as he pictures a myriad ways in which he can undo the man.

Zolf smiles to himself, feeling the heat in his face subsiding a little when Oscar notices the change in his reaction and grins.

“Well? What are you waiting for, lead the way.”

***

The shopkeeper doesn’t hover, she walks around organizing shelves and she smiles whenever she catches either of their eyes. It’s one of the best organized and most extensive collections of its kind that Oscar has ever encountered. Everything is bright and colorful and the shop is well lit and welcoming. A display of rope catches his eye and he walks toward it, pulling Zolf along behind him. Oscar runs his hands over the soft lengths of rope, they are smooth and soft under his fingers and the array of colors before him makes him happy the way colorful things usually do. He can feel Zolf watching him carefully.

“Which color draws your eye, then?”

“I think that question is better directed at yourself, don’t you think, darling?”

Zolf steps in close to examine the bundles of rope beside him, seeming to give serious consideration to the array of colors before them. His fingers hover over several colors, a deep forest green, a vibrant purple, a few different shades of pink, before finally settling on a bright blue-green. Zolf holds it up and then looks in his eyes.

“Think this one will do, what do you think?”

Oscar runs his eyes over it. “It’s beautiful,” He breathes. He’s thinking about what it will feel like tight against his wrists, his ankles as Zolf touches him and looks down at him with that dark look in his eyes.

Zolf tucks the bundle under an arm and Oscar’s breath hitches.

“C’mon then, let’s see if we can find you a better gag than a wad of cloth.”

Oscar’s stomach drops and he follows Zolf to the appropriate section of the store in a daze, catching the shopkeeper’s keen eyes and matching her wide grin. They pick up a proper gag and a variety of other toys, some plugs of various sizes, with at least one Zolf is comfortable with the idea of using on himself, oils of all sorts including a massage oil that doubles as an aphrodisiac, a riding crop and a wooden paddle. It’s almost a little comical to see Zolf with all of their selections clutched in his lovely strong arms, even as Oscar’s mind is occupied tripping through a hundred different fantasies for each of the items they’ve chosen. Has it really only been a few weeks since he thought this man was going to kill him?

He’s distracted out of his head by the way Azu beams at them as she rings up their purchases.

“This is a lovely color.” She says, grabbing the rope. “Are you experienced with shibari?”

Zolf shares a look with Oscar who answers for both of them. “Not personally, but my partner is a sailor, so I can only hope he’s good with knots.”

Zolf blushes but doesn’t deny it. Oscar catches the expression of mild horror that crosses his face when Azu winks at him.

“My wife’s a sailor, too. They pick it up fast, seem to have a knack for it.” She stops sorting through their intended purchases and seems to consider something. “Would you be interested in a book? It has some very helpful diagrams for rope designs and ties.”

“I’m sure we’d be very interested.”

Oscar doesn’t even blush, but he enjoys the way Zolf seems to be actively willing the heat of his cheeks away as Azu disappears momentarily, reappearing with a book in hand, which she sets in the counter and flips through, showing them some of the diagrams. It does look very helpful. They add it to their pile of purchases.

“How long have you two been together?” Azu’s sorting the last of their purchases, carefully wrapping the vials of oil in a protective layer of paper.

Oscar gives Zolf a look and then tries to stifle a laugh, making Zolf smile widely.

Oscar makes an ambiguous gesture with a hand, a sort of intricate wave. “It’s a fairly recent development.”

Azu’s face lights up. “New love! Oh, how wonderful! I could tell that Aphrodite had blessed you when you walked in, oh how lovely!”

That makes Oscar blush and he knows Zolf’s noticed when he gets an elbow in the hip.

Azu sets both hands down on the counter and leans towards them. “Now, gentlemen, how discreet are we feeling?”

They both look at her puzzled until she pulls out two very different paper bags, one a plain brown paper bag, the other a pale pink with white glittery detailing.

Zolf brings his hands to his face, maybe trying to physically hide the fierce redness of his cheeks. “Might as well go for broke.” He grumbles.

Azu looks like a child that’s just woken up on Christmas morning, and she gleefully places all of their purchases in one of the pink bags. They promise to come back whenever they make port here and the idea of being with Zolf, of staying with him long enough to make it back here, makes his heart flutter.

Someone calls to Zolf as they walk out of the shop, one of his old friends from the teasing tone of voice. “Alright Zolf, got yourself a looker, eh?”

Zolf puts a hand over Oscar’s arse. “Sod off, Greg!” Zolf shouts over his shoulder, but he’s smiling and waving as he does it.

They walk back towards the busier section of town, beings of all species bustling about in dense crowds. Zolf leads them over to a pub with a sign declaring its name to be, 'The Soggy Admiral.'

Zolf turns to him, bringing his hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ve got to go take care of business. Sasha will be in there with Grizzop.” He points to the pub where a pair of gnomes in bright yellow jackets are walking through the door. “Will you be okay for a bit?”

Oscar puts on his best pout but he knows it’s not convincing, he’s sure he’s smiling with his eyes. “So long as you promise to be back quickly.”

Zolf nods and gently drags his fingers along Oscar’s as they slowly pull apart.

“You go join them, I’ll get a round in when I turn up.”

Oscar moves away, smirking to himself when he feels Zolf pat his arse twice as he goes.

The pub is so much of a cliché that Oscar almost laughs as he steps inside. There’s even a band in the corner playing jaunty tunes that some of the rowdier patrons are singing along to, which reminds him so much of home that it tugs strangely at his heart. He spots Sasha and recognises that she’s not alone when he sees her laugh, leaning in to murmur something in an ear that’s large and adorned with rings upon rings of gold. Oh, but it has been far too long since he had the pleasure of a goblin’s company and from the wicked smirk on this... friend of Sasha’s face, he anticipates it will be just as good as all of those times.

“Oi, Wilde! Where’d you get that bag from?” Sasha grins, nudging Grizzop with her elbow.

Oscar grins back, unconcerned, as he places it beside the stool he settles himself on. “Sasha I think you’re well aware.” He pats it, making a show of peering inside it, and then up at the pair across from him. “I can show you what we got? Would you like that?”

Sasha laughs, downing the rest of her drink and shaking her head fiercely. “Not on your life. Whatever you and the Captain get up to is nothing I wanna know.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” Grizzop grins, holding out a hand. “Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam. Heard a lot about you. Show me what you picked up.”

Zolf joins them just in time to find him and Grizzop discussing the merits of one of the plugs they picked up (Grizzop thinks it’s so small as to be pointless, until Oscar shoots him a meaningful look, followed by a quick glance at Zolf and a raised eyebrow). They’re grinning broadly at each other - gods, but he has a lot of teeth, how does Sasha contend with that? - when Zolf huffs out a breath and sets down four mugs of something that smells strong enough to strip paint.

“Knew I’d regret you.” He says, but it has no bite to it, and his scowl is chased away when Oscar leans in to press a warm kiss to his cheek.

“Funny, you’ve not given me that impression in our entanglements thus far.”

He watches as Zolf rolls his eyes and sets down a petite little box on the table, wrapped in lovely colourful paper and sealed with a bow. Ever the magpie, Oscar reaches out and lifts the lid, finding it filled to the brim with lovely chocolates, all in their own little paper wrappers. He coos softly, reaching in to grab one, only for Zolf to rap him on the back of the hand quickly.

“They’re for when you’ve earned it... for after.”

Oscar flushes at the tremor of pleasure that chases down his spine, running his tongue over his lower lip slowly. “As you wish, Captain.”

There’s something so… natural about the evening that ensues that Oscar finds himself stopping at points to just drink it all in. To watch as Grizzop and Sasha share smiles and laughs, to admire the easy way that Sasha and Zolf interact off the ship, even if she still calls him Captain. At one point, Sasha encourages him into another pun battle and it’s worth it just to see Zolf sit with his head in his hands when Grizzop joins in as well.

“Oi Wilde.” Sasha says, twirling her empty mug on its base with a single finger. “How’s your aim?”

“I mean, that very much depends on context, Sasha.”

She narrows her eyes. “Darts. Darts is the context.”

“What I lack in skill, I make up for in luck.” He says, quietly amused at how this stumps Sasha for a moment.

“Yeah, alright. You’re with me.” She says, getting to her feet and walking the few steps to the recently vacated dart board. “Zolf won’t let me and Grizzop be on the same team anymore.”

“Yeah, for good fucking reason.” Zolf laughs. “You two can hustle someone else, I’m not losing to you again.”

He watches as Sasha gathers up the darts, twirling them effortlessly in her grip. Truly, she’s wasted on ship work - she could be one of the world’s most efficient assassins, if the desire took her. She tosses three in quick succession to Grizzop and he plucks each one of the air even before Oscar’s been able to follow their path.

“Alright, I see what Zolf means.” He says, faintly.

Sasha just winks, taking up her position at the throw line, a chalked line marked roughly on the dirty sticky floorboards. She throws slowly and methodically, considering each dart carefully. Without fail she hits the intended spot, setting them up very nicely indeed. He watches as Grizzop does the same, from his place perched against the table and delights in the warmth of Zolf’s hand on his thigh in a tenderly familiar and thrillingly possessive curve.

By the time it’s his turn, he hops to his feet and hums a tune under his breath, feeling his magic imbue him like a shimmering tingle of inspiration under his skin. His aim is true, as he continues to whistle the tune to maintain an air of innocence. He’s not perfect - that would be too unbelievable—but he does better than he by any right should have done. Zolf peers at him curiously when moving past to catch up the darts from the board, but doesn’t say anything. He’s lucky, cos he’s pretty sure he couldn’t lie to Zolf even if he wanted to at this point.

He and Sasha win the first round, and the second. Grizzop is starting to get a little irritated, he can tell, though Zolf is clearly used to not winning against Sasha. It seems like Sasha’s skill is hiding his little enhancements, right up until Sasha goes to throw just as the door slams open, surprising her just enough to veer off course. On instinct, Oscar whispers a spell at the last moment, swerving the dart back into a reasonable enough path, smiling when Grizzop shouts a loud and irritated curse.

He’s all ready to take a swig of his drink to hide his amusement when Sasha turns slowly on her heel.

“What was that?”

He frowns, and he knows he does a good job of it because Sasha hesitates for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“That throw. There’s no way I was going to hit.”

He grins, wide and charming. “Sasha, you’re just that good.”

She advances on him slowly, and for the first time Oscar realises how dangerous she really can be, even with four drinks inside her. “I don’t cheat, Wilde. And I don’t like them who do.”

Grizzop shouts, jumping up on the table beside him. “I knew you couldn’t be that good. Don’t think just cos you’ve got a pretty face you can get away with that shit.”

Oscar grins, turning to Grizzop instead. “You think I’m pretty?”

He senses he’s a breath away from a headbutt when Zolf tugs him away, laughing at the way Grizzop spits out a series of curses at the loss of his target. Zolf’s fingers tuck into Oscar’s belt, holding him close to the stool and it’s more than a little pleasant to lean his weight against the dwarf.

“Least you can do is get another round in.” Grizzop grumbles, flopping down back into his chair now that the game appears to have been abandoned.

“Grizzop, I hate to be the one to tell you but being rescued from a kidnapping doesn’t exactly translate into liquid assets.” Oscar looks down at Zolf with a smirk. “Perhaps you should ask my generous benefactor instead.”

Grizzop shoots a disgusted look at Sasha, then snorts. “You ask me, you got a poor deal out of this one, Zolf.”

Oscar laughs, bending over to get closer to Grizzop and wearing an intensely lascivious smirk. Before he can even open his mouth, Zolf is standing and dragging him over to the bar. He winks at Grizzop before turning around, setting an arm around Zolf’s shoulders.

“He will fight you.” Zolf says. “I know you’re powerful Oscar but he’s fast and doesn’t hesitate.”

“Fine. I won’t rile him any more than necessary.”

“Don’t pout.”

Oscar waits quietly as Zolf orders another round, looking back at their table to find Sasha already half melting into the shadows, Grizzop’s face tucked in her throat. The corner of his smile flashes in the low light.

“Don’t look now, but I think we’re going to be very much surplus to requirements soon.”

Zolf looks, because of course he does, and his chuckle is tender and warm. “That’s fair enough. One more drink and then I’ll get you back to the ship. Why don’t you start thinking about what you’d like to do tonight.”

Oscar grins, catching up a couple of mugs and following the dwarf back to their table. “Oh Zolf, it’s very sweet that you think I’ve been thinking about anything else.”

***

The ship is quiet by the time he and Oscar make their way back up the gangplank, only a few crewmembers tasked with keeping the old girl safe from intruders, or set to making whatever repairs they need without getting additional supplies and hands from port. They’ll be in port for a few days yet, but he’s not got any interest in putting him and Oscar up in one of the boarding houses—he’s got everything he needs in his cabin, and the increased privacy is hardly a bad thing, either.

Oscar’s been touchy with him ever since they left the pub, the rum clearly sitting nice and heavy in his stomach as it is in Zolf’s. He feels tingly, anticipating the heat of Oscar’s skin under his fingers. There’s been something in the man’s eyes since their trip to Aphrodite’s Treasure that he wants to explore, too. He’s got an idea, and Zolf wants to know what it is.

Once they’re safely in the cabin, Oscar leans down, hands warm and slightly clammy against his face. “Zolf.” He says, with faux solemnity. “I would very much appreciate it if you’d do me the honour of letting me suck your cock.”

“Uh.” He says, cursing his sudden lack of eloquence as blood races from his brain to his groin. “Yeah. Yeah that… I’d like that.”

“Oh, good.” Oscar grins. “How about you sit yourself on the bed then, Captain?”

He can’t claim to have imagined this, not in the short time that they’ve been fumbling through this intense new entanglement. But he feels a fierce heat shoot up and down his spine when Oscar smiles, sinking to his knees beside the bed. He has to crane his head up still, looking at the smug expression on his lover’s face as Oscar works quick hands at his belt.

It feels silly, to get a little wobbly over the sight. It’s not his usual style. But Oscar, all tight pants and tousled hair and still utterly perfectly applied kohl, makes something in his hind brain kick into full force.

Zolf wants to ruin him. Spoil him. Make an absolute mess of Oscar Wilde.

Oscar must see something in his expression, if the way the man’s eyelids flutter and shoulders lose some of their tension is anything to go by. Zolf smirks, reaching out to tuck a hand along the length of his jaw, thumb resting suggestively at the corner of his mouth.

“You sure?” He asks, feeling the shudder that such a consideration makes rush through Oscar’s body.

His only response is a soft moan and a tug at his waistband, Oscar pulling his trousers down and off and leaving him exposed to the heated air of the cabin. He’s almost completely hard already, and it barely takes a minute of Oscar’s hand on his cock, hungry eyes on his face to get him fully thick and heavy in Oscar’s palm.

The look that Oscar shoots his flushed prick is almost comical in how tender and hungry it is, as if the man’s looking at an old and dear friend.

“You gonna be able to handle it?” He says, almost surprised at the husky tone of his voice. He knows he’s not exactly poorly endowed given how desperately Oscar’s writhed for him but he’s really not one to crow about it.

He watches as Oscar chokes on a laugh, spreading both hands over his thighs and bracing there as he fights down further chuckles. “Darling. You have the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen and if you think I won’t relish the challenge of fitting all of you in my mouth, you are sorely mistaken.”

Zolf stiffens at the way Oscar practically prowls towards him, resting forearms on the bed beside his thighs. He purrs and drags his nose up the underside of Zolf’s cock, inhaling slow and deep.

“Besides, everyone always says I have a big mouth.”

He laughs, can’t help the way it bubbles out of him and melts into a lusty groan when Oscar presses a lingering kiss to the slick head of his cock. His hand flexes, fingers brushing against Oscar’s and he feels a little thrill rush through him as Oscar grabs his hand. Without words, he moves Zolf’s hand until it rests against the back of his head and groans happily when Zolf clenches, pulling unevenly on the strands of his hair.

“You might want to lie down.”

It’s all the warning he gets before Oscar parts his lips and slowly starts to sink down. It feels incredible, so different to the feeling of sinking into Oscar’s ass, warm and wet and so fucking good as Oscar flexes and dances his tongue like he was made for this. He’s fine, until Oscar sucks and draws off him in one slow motion, peering up at him with wet eyes and red lips, taking a few short breaths and then diving back down.

He looks like he's stepped right out of a Campbell. It makes Zolf's stomach do a silly little flip.

Zolf groans, flopping back onto the bed and fisting his hand tighter in Oscar’s hair. It’s so easy to get lost in the pull and push of Oscar’s mouth, in the gasping, groaning sounds that his lover gives with each sink and swipe of his tongue. Oscar sounds almost grateful and it makes Zolf’s head spin with a mix of love and greedy possessiveness, knowing that Oscar wants this, wants him.

He glances down the length of his body, watches the way Oscar’s eyes screw shut, mouth full and lips stretched wide around him. Oscar’s hands flex over Zolf’s thighs and then he looks up, tears spilling over and down through the carefully applied makeup. It leaves him with dark streaks down each of his cheeks, his lips slick and flushed with blood.

“Fuck, Oscar.” He moans. “You weren’t lying.”

Oscar grins as much as he’s able, pulling off and moving a hand to twist and pull at Zolf’s cock instead. “I would never lie about this, Zolf.” He murmurs, voice all rough in a way that makes Zolf oddly proud. “You like it, don’t you? Making a mess of me?”

Zolf narrows his eyes, thrusting up into Oscar’s grip. “You know I do.”

“What would you prefer?” He asks, all casual as if he’s not got a prick in his hand. “Coming in my mouth or on my face?”

Zolf groans, head falling back to the bed with a faint laugh. “Both. Either. I don’t fucking care.”

Oscar gives a hum, leaning to suck a bruise into the meat of his belly. “Dealer's choice it is.”

He grits his teeth hard when Oscar takes him in again, his groan catching in a rumbling growl in his throat that makes Oscar’s finger tremble on his skin. Zolf curses, over and over, rocking his hips up when Oscar encourages him with gentle hands on his arse. He feels himself nudge the back of Oscar’s throat and chews at his lip.

“Let me hear you.” Oscar breathes into the side of his cock, chasing it with a lick from root to tip. “Please, Zolf.”

“Gods, Oscar.” He says, moving both hands to tangle in Oscar’a hair. “Fuck. You feel so good. You’re so good at this, so good for me.”

He knows he’s babbling utter nonsense but feels it work in the way Oscar grunts and moans around him, streams of _fuck, love, more, so fucking good at this, look so fucking good taking my cock_ flooding from his lips until his words have little meaning beyond praise, praise, constant praise...

Oscar hums and the vibrations are enough to tip him over, spilling deep in Oscar’s mouth in long, pulsing throbs that race through his body and leave him feeling painfully wrung-out. He arches at a final suck from Oscar’s lovely gorgeous mouth and laughs, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Good?”

Zolf looks up to see Oscar licking his lips, swiping away a smear of white. “C’mere.”

Oscar crawls over him, all feline grace, and Zolf brings his hands up to cup his lover’s cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over the kohl tracks his tears left behind. He looks unfairly beautiful like this, and it’s easy to drag him in for a kiss. Zolf swipes his tongue deep into Oscar’s mouth, tasting the last of his spend and smiling at the shudder that act that inspires, Oscar's hands clutching at his shoulders.

“Mm, yes. I think you enjoyed that a great deal.”

Zolf smirks, sliding one hand down Oscar’s back and urging him to rock the hard line of his cock into Zolf’s belly. “What gave it away?”

“I suppose I’m just that insightful.” He says, the raspiness of his voice sounding just lovely as he starts to rut, taking pleasure for himself. “What’s my reward going to be, Captain?”

Zolf smirks, tipping his head to shoot a pointed look at their bag of goodies from port. “We’ve got options. You feeling up for rope tonight?”

Oscar’s groans and his eyes go dark and wide in a way that tells Zolf exactly how up for rope he’s feeling. Zolf presses a thumb to Oscar’s lips which part readily at his touch, allowing him to push it onto Oscar’s tongue and into his mouth. Zolf leans in close to whisper in his ear as Oscar works his tongue against Zolf’s thumb.

“You want me to tie you up?” Oscar moans and sucks at Zolf’s thumb as he nods his head. Zolf presses his thumb down on Oscar’s tongue and wraps his fingers down to cradle Oscar’s jaw as he holds his mouth open. His eyes are glassy and lust blown in that way Zolf adores, in that way that makes his stomach do a little flip.

“If you show me you can click your fingers with your wrists bound, we can gag you, too. Would you like that?”

Oscar whimpers around Zolf’s thumb, a flood of saliva filling his mouth. He likes the idea so much he’s salivating at the thought of it, gods. Oscar’s cock twitches against his stomach and Zolf lets him circle his hips, whimpering and sucking on Zolf’s thumb as grinds and searches for friction. Zolf lets it go for a second longer before releasing his jaw and tapping his hip to get him to roll off.

He pushes him down with a hand in the center of his chest, dipping under the deep V of his shirt to tease at a nipple before moving to his waistband. The fastening is easy enough to undo but getting the trousers off is an ordeal. Zolf shoves them off Oscar’s hips, making decidedly slow progress.

“Did you paint these bloody things on?” Zolf grouches.

Oscar tilts his hips up trying to help as Zolf find some purchase and makes some headway peeling off his trousers. “There’s no reason for trousers this bloomin’ tight.”

“Oh, darling,” Oscar chuckles as Zolf finally manages to wrestle the offending garment down past Oscar’s knees. “Of course there’s a reason. It’s because they make my arse look incredible.”

Zolf can’t argue with that, but he’s not about to rain praise on the man just yet.

“Get on your knees and stay still.”

Zolf goes to retrieve the length of rope and the nice gag they bought. He shuffles around in the bag trying to get to the book at the bottom. He sets the riding crop and the paddle aside—those are things for another night, once they better know the shape of this. There are also various bottles of oils with different unique effects, but he grabs one that doesn’t have any of those and brings that back to the bed with everything else. 

Zolf sets all of the items down on the bed next to Oscar, right where he can see them, before sitting down and flipping through the shibari book. He’s looking for simpler designs with knots he already knows how to do, though he sees several more complicated lattices of rope work that he’s very much like to learn how to wrap his lover in. Some of the diagrams have so much rope that the figure is partially encased in it. He wonders if Oscar would like that. He’ll have to ask. He can feel Oscar shifting on the bed beside him, hear the rustling of the sheets as he fights to stay still. Zolf’s purposely taking his time flipping through the book, doing it lazily, examining pages with designs he knows he’s not interested in for tonight. He finally settles on one, turning a few pages after it to keep Oscar waiting just that extra bit longer.

“Cross your arms behind your back.”

Oscar does it immediately, with ease, he’s more flexible than Zolf could ever dream of being.

“Is this comfortable? If I tie you like this?”

Oscar nods. “I think so.”

“Well, let’s give it a go, then. Hold still while I do this, and let me know if it’s uncomfortable or if you’d like me to stop.”

“I will.”

“And if you ever go numb or lose feeling in your arms or hands, let me know.”

“Of course.”

Assured that Oscar will be safe and tell him if anything is wrong, Zolf begins unwinding the length of rope. He has Oscar turn his wrists toward each other, so that the sensitive insides won’t be in direct contact with the rope, and starts to wind it around his wrists to form a column before making a little circle and pulling the extra length of rope through it to secure the tie. The rope goes around his arms and chest next, to form a sort of harness that loops around the wrist columns and sits in line with the point of his sternum. The next step is to loop a length of rope from the wrist tie over one shoulder and under the length of rope across the front of his chest before looping over the opposite shoulder and rejoining the main wrist tie. A series of Lark’s heads knots are used to form a cradle for each arm and Zolf is careful to make sure the rope avoids the nerve that runs in the groove between bicep and tricep.

By the time he’s finished tying, Oscar’s breathing has gone slow and even, his eyes heavy, and glassy and all tension is gone from his face and shoulders. Zolf takes a moment to appreciate his handiwork. The finished product forms a kind of star pattern over Oscar’s chest and bonds his wrists to the harness it creates behind his back. He congratulates himself on his choice of color. The blue green looks perfect with the color of Oscar’s eyes and skin, standing out brightly against the expanse of his chest and back.

“Can you click your fingers for me, Oscar?”

Oscar clicks twice, two sharp and clear noises.

“Good.” Zolf runs a hand through his hair. “Gag?”

Oscar smiles and nods, already looking blissful.

Zolf fits the leather ball gag around his head, making sure it doesn’t catch in any of Oscar’s hair. He looks perfect like this, bound, lips stretched around the gag, relaxed and beautiful.

“Click twice.”

The clicks ring out into the room, just as sharp and clear as before and Zolf smiles and pets his hair before grabbing a fistful at the base of his neck and pulling. “Good boy, Oscar.”

***

Oscar’s head is buzzing pleasantly and he feels like he’s floating, in the best way possible. The ropes press into his skin with each breath in and out, a constant pressure, a constant reminder. His arms burn with the ache of holding the position, but he welcomes it. He lets Zolf maneuver him onto his knees, bent over with his ass on display and his face pressed into the mattress by one of the dwarf’s hands on the back of his neck. The moan Oscar makes is broken and desperate but stifled by the gag. His head spins and his pulse thuds in his ears as he hears the vial of oil being uncorked.

Oscar startles at the touch of teeth to the back of one of his thighs and then groans at the ensuing sucking and biting as one of Zolf’s hands wraps around his hip, digging into his bruised brand and lighting him up with the kind of pain he adores. Zolf sucks a line of bruises up the back of one of his thighs, to the rise of his arse and then finally there is the touch of a slick finger to his rim.

“My good boy, so good for me. So good to me.” Oscar whimpers at the praise and it turns into a more urgent cry as Zolf sinks a finger into him.

“Suck cock like you were made for it.” It’s not long until he’s ready for a second finger and the stretch of it beside the first is delicious and exactly what he needs. He pushes his hips backwards, trying to get more, trying to push Zolf deeper, to rub over his prostate, but Zolf smacks his arse with a loud crack, wrenching a sob out of his throat and gripping his hip hard enough to leave fresh bruises over the old ones. It hurts, it aches, and it is everything he wants.

“Ruined your makeup so pretty while sucking me down.” Oscar whimpers as Zolf teases his rim with the press of a third finger against and around it before finally sliding it in.

“All day in the rain and not a smudge, but get my cock in your mouth and you let yourself look a mess.”

Oscar grunts and pushes into Zolf’s vice hold on his hip, seeking the ache.

“Do you like that, you like when I make a mess of you? When it looks like I’ve ruined you?”

Oscar nods his head, gurgling his best attempt at ‘yes’ and feels the slide of saliva out of the corner of his mouth around where his lips and teeth are stretched around the ball of the gag. He feels messy and ruined and debauched and right now nothing is his problem. Zolf is looking at him like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched and stretching him open with a fourth finger and rubbing over his prostate again and again, spilling praise into his ear in a voice filled with gravel and all Oscar knows in this moment is bliss. It’s all he knows until Zolf wraps a hand around his cock.

“Come for me, be a good boy and come.” And then, for a few long seconds, all Oscar knows is the ecstasy of his orgasm.

Zolf unties him with care and rubs life back into his arms and hands, making sure there is ample blood flowing through them. He cleans Oscar up with a cloth and Oscar’s so blissed out that he hadn’t even thought to prestidigitate the mess away. He doesn’t mind his lapse in memory, he prefers Zolf’s gentle and tender care. Zolf tucks him into bed and tells him to close his eyes. He’s gone for a moment and then there is a hand cradling the side of his face.

“Open,” Zolf whispers and a piece of chocolate is set on his tongue, bitter and sweet and decadent. Zolf kisses him, slow and deep, chasing the taste of chocolate from his tongue before pulling away to feed him another, kissing him just as deeply after he swallows that one. Zolf feeds him two more before getting in bed beside him, and Oscar doesn’t remember his slow slide into unconsciousness.

Zolf getting out of bed stirs him a few hours later. He protests and Zolf kisses him on the forehead. “I’ll only be gone a few hours, ‘s my shift on deck.”

Oscar rearranges the pillows, hugging one in Zolf’s stead and falling easily back to sleep. He sleeps so soundly he can’t be sure exactly how much later he wakes again. The sound of the door creaking open rouses him and he stretches, enjoying the ache in his arms and legs and the pleasant soreness inside him that accompanies being well-fucked. He slowly opens his eyes, blinking with the last of his stretching, and his heart jolts with excitement at Zolf’s return. He’d very much like to spend more time snuggled up in the dwarf’s arms.

He begins to roll over, eyes still bleary. “Hadn’t expected you back so soon, darling.”

The footsteps are oddly quiet, not the heavy metallic clunk he’s come to expect. Perhaps Zolf is trying not to wake him. As he rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes he begins to recognize that the figure is not Zolf. Every nerve in his body lights up with the realization and dread slips through his veins, heart pumping it rapidly through his body.

It’s not Zolf and it’s hooded and reaching into its robes, standing over the bed and Oscar is naked with nothing but the sheets tangled around his legs for a weapon. He calculates his odds of grabbing one of the daggers from where he knows Zolf keeps a few hidden between the headboard and mattress as the figure lunges for him, faster than he can form the spell in his head and click his fingers, faster than he can reach for the dagger.

He feels a hand firm around his throat, cold, so cold in comparison to the heated breath over his face.

“Hello, Wilde.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot in our torrid romance?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar deals with his unexpected visitor, Zolf enacts some justice and a new path forward is forged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A genuine content warning for the following chapter, lovelies: there's significant depictions of threat, violence (knife/sword violence), death and branding. We trust you all to know how to curate your own fic experience, but wanted to lay it out clearly here.
> 
> There's also a whole heaping more smut, so you know, it balances out.

Oscar breathes slowly through his nose, forcing his face as neutral as it’s possible to be with an armed assailant kneeling on your chest.

“Dorian.” He says, tight, cool.

Dorian grins, pressing the tip of his dagger up under Oscar’s chin. “I’ve got to say, Wilde. I didn’t expect you to make it _quite_ this easy on me.”

“Believe me, that was not my intention.”

He winces at the flash of pain that accompanies Dorian pushing forward with his blade, just enough to encourage a trickle of blood. He could shout. He could scream Zolf’s name, but there are so few people on the ship right now that the odds of him being heard are low enough that it’s not worth the risk of antagonising Dorian further.

He’s been in worse situations than this. Not many, but enough.

“Didn’t expect to find you in the Captain’s bed either, but then you always were an opportunistic whore.”

If Dorian expects that to sting, he’s going to be very disappointed. “Dorian, that is not even close to the worst thing someone’s called me. You can do better. I know it, I believe in yo—.”

“ _Shut it_ Wilde.” Dorian snarls, and the blade moves further along the underside of his jaw, following the bone. “I should cut your tongue out, save everyone the trouble of hearing any more from you.”

“I don’t know that they’d be very happy with you if I couldn’t speak all of my secrets.”

Dorian smirks, his flash of anger hastily forced down by his training. “They sent me to kill you Wilde. They don’t care about your secrets now. They just want you dead.”

Oscar recognises and appreciates how lucky it is that he’s so good at this that he manages to make sure his fear isn’t visible on his face. That he maintains the slightly aloof, slightly smug, slightly superior expression even with there being every chance that he might die in the next minute. He thinks of everything that brought him to this point, everything he’s gained from finding sanctuary on Zolf’s ship.

He refuses to lose that now.

He just needs to buy time.

“May I congratulate you then, on the extremely effective assassination.” He smiles. “I expected that being dead would feel a little more _chilly_ , but really, it’s not so different to living.”

He grits his teeth hard when Dorian smiles, draggin the knife up higher, over his jaw and across his cheek. It stings, the blade sharp enough to slice instead of gouge, and he feels the warm spill of blood over his cheek as Dorian continues up.

“They didn’t say _how_ I had to kill you Wilde. Think I’m gonna take my time with you. Enjoy this. You’ve been a thorn in our side for too long, and no one’s gonna regret you ending up in little bite size pieces. Might take some of you back to La Gourmande. You know how he’d enjoy _that_.”

Oscar just barely holds in a shudder, narrowing his eyes at Dorian even as the slight tug on his cheek makes his new wound ache and throb. “Very well.”

“Giving in so easily?” Dorian chuckles, setting the blade right at the base of Oscar’s throat.

Oscar shakes his head, ignoring the flare of pain at yet another shallow cut, opens his mouth.

And starts to sing.

***

Zolf is distracted.

Thoroughly and completely, to the detriment of all of those around him. He finds himself smiling as he walks below deck, checking on the repairs and doing a swift inventory of their supplies. They’ll need to pick up more food and drink, perhaps even some fresh livestock for the pens, which are beginning to look a little barren. In any other time, securing sustenance would have been a day one task in port, the priority for a captain concerned about the wellbeing of their crew.

Instead, he took Oscar to an Aphrodite-sanctioned sex shop and purchased more toys and implements than he’s owned in his lifetime, combined.

That _man_ …

Zolf smiles again, pathetically unable to stop it. One of the gunners shoots him a curious look as he passes, which Zolf resolves not to give the time of day to. He hardly needs to encourage them, after all, well aware that they’re mouthing off about him enough in their free time. If they can’t appreciate that a happy captain means an easier life for them, well, that’s their problem not his. Content that his review has been completed to the best of his ability, Zolf bounds up the stairs with more energy than he can remember having for some time, taking a deep breath of good fresh air once he’s up on the main deck.

Once he’s there, he glances towards the other end of the ship and does his best to ignore the little lurch in his stomach. He’s barely been gone an hour. He doesn’t need to go back and see Oscar. The man’s likely still asleep. He has work to do. He’s a responsible Captain and an _adult_ godsdamnit.

That doesn’t mean that his feet don’t start to carry him in that direction, before someone calls his name from the fore of the ship. It’s an important discussion, about the wear on some of the rigging ropes and whether they should look to get them repaired or replaced now, or wait until they’re a little more flush. It takes all of his concentration, and he feels oddly accomplished by the end of it, nodding to his crewmate and slipping his hands into his pockets as he looks over at the port starting to wake up.

The street lamps are starting to be gutted by the lamplighters, the inn owners beginning the thankless task of righting all of the furniture in their outdoor areas that were toppled by rowdy crowds. He hears singing and smiles at it, something familiar about the lilt of the tune as it floats to his ears from the shore.

He turns his head, and the source of the singing switches in an instant. It’s not ashore at all. It’s on the boat.

And it’s familiar for a reason that should make him feel better.

It doesn’t.

It sounds wrong, uncomfortable, tinged with something unpleasant, like a tainted pint or moulded food. He walks a little closer to the source, denying the instinctive rise of bile in his gut. He knows. He knows where it’s coming from. And he knows what it means that to hear it makes him feel like a whelp on their first ocean crossing, jelly-legged and nauseous.

Without stopping to think, he strides, then runs across the deck to his cabin, catching up a sword from the belt of one of the guards on his way. They shout something but he doesn’t hear it, doesn’t stop, can’t stop, needs to _do something how could he leave him what was he thinking…_

He slams the door open to find Wilde. Covered in blood. Naked on the bed and covered in blood and singing, _singing_ a song so haunting and desperate and _pained_ that he almost gives over to it himself, hypnotised by the horrible brilliance of his lover and whatever spell he’s casting.

The other figure in the room is almost an afterthought. Zolf shakes his head and the compulsion clears, allowing him to focus on the strangely contorting body of Oscar’s assailant. The man, dressed in black and completely unfamiliar, writhes and swats at invisible forces, crying out and clutching hands to his ears, eyes screwed shut against some unknowable horror.

Oscar doesn’t even notice that he’s there, eyes fixed on the dark figure and filled with such power and hatred that it makes Zolf tremble a little in hesitation. He swallows, knowing that his part in this is clear.

He steps forward, raises the sword and plunges it forward, through the man’s back and out through his chest. He jerks, trying to go still but, assailed by whatever sights Oscar’s spell is conjuring, continues to scream and lurch on Zolf’s sword. Zolf swears, pulling the weapon free with a great heft of strength and reaching up to grab a handful of the man’s hair. With a yell, Zolf pulls the man down and brings up the sword to drag it quick across his throat, deep enough to stop the awful cries in an instant.

Zolf drops the body and the sword in one motion, swiping angrily at the slick wetness on his face and crossing to the bed. Oscar is still singing, eyes wide and angry, so he reaches out without thinking to cup a palm over the man’s cheek and channel healing into his wounds. He feels the skin knit together beneath his palm and realises that he’s muttering useless calming affirmations to try and break Oscar out of his trance only once Oscar finally goes quiet, and his voice is the only sound in the room.

“Zolf.”

It’s a trembling little sound on a throat wrecked by both singing and casting for such an extended period.

“Zolf, you’re bleeding!”

He opens his mouth to say something, only to be instantly distracted by the faint green light glowing around each of Oscar’s palms as they encircle both of his forearms. He recognises the magic, of course he does, but can’t help but stare in mute surprise at the appearance of it here, now.

“You can heal?” He asks, astounded.

“A little.” Oscar says, quietly, eyes roaming over every inch of him. “Did it work?”

“Oscar, I wasn’t hurt. _You_ were hurt.”

He looks young like this, Zolf realises. It’s different to how he looked when they found him in his cell, when he was beaten and bruised and ready to die. Here he looks confused, tired, lost and scared.

“I was?” Zolf watches in silence as he swallows, bringing a hand up to his face, unblemished and whole as it was when Zolf left not two hours ago. “I was. He cut me. He was going to kill me.”

“He’s dead.” Zolf says. “You stopped him. I finished the job.”

“You saved me. Again.” Oscar says, staring up at him with such gratitude that Zolf feels uncomfortable with it. Undeserving. “It’s not something I really want you to be making a habit of, darling, but I’m glad you know how to choose your moments.”

Zolf laughs, the anxiety bubbling out of him in a giddy rush. He throws his arms around Oscar and holds him so tight that he wonders if the man can still breathe, though the arms that come around his waist squeeze just as hard. He pulls back, cupping Oscar’s healed cheek - the scar beneath his palm is only faint, and with more healing will likely fade completely - and ducks his head to kiss the man with desperate, hungry relief.

He swallows Oscar’s groans, shifting until he’s sat on the bed and tangling his hands in Oscar’s hair to hold him close, grunting at the pass of teeth over his lower lip. It feels so heady to have Oscar safe, alive, _his_. Zolf feels Oscar whine, pulling him closer. Zolf falls with him, straddling his waist and feeling the pleasant width of his torso spread his thighs wide.

Lifting his head, Zolf takes in the sight of Oscar, now splotched with the man’s blood on his chest and shoulders, tangled in the unruly fall of his hair, and forces down whatever primal desire that inspires for later consideration.

“Who was he?”

“Dorian.” Oscar says, looking over at the body of the man Zolf. “The last time we spoke, he was trying to get information out of me for his employer, a very unpleasant man who controls the underground crime network in Paris. As far as I understood it at the time, they were not fans of the Meritocrats. Perhaps I am now simply a common enemy of them both.”

“How did he find you?”

Oscar tries for a smile, and it’s sad, anxious. “I long suspected that my brand was more than just a pretty little adornment.”

Zolf feels cold all over. The location of the brand almost seems to throb against his knee and he curses, holding Oscar’s face again. “It needs to go. We have to get rid of it. I can’t risk you… You can’t be beholden to them forever, Oscar. Constantly running is no life at all. Trust me.”

“Okay, Zolf. Alright.” He says, a quiet smile now on his face. “How?”

Zolf frowns, smoothing his thumbs over Oscar’s cheeks. His surety about the necessity of removing the brand hasn’t exactly extended to thinking about the precise method. “Let me think about it. There’s gonna be a few ways.”

“Alright.” Oscar says again, spreading his palms over Zolf’s back and urging him down again.

Zolf can’t help but smile as he steals Oscar’s lips again, the sheer relief of having him safe and responsive melding with the simmering heat in his gut to leave him buzzing with energy, skin too tight to contain all of the emotions he’s feeling. Oscar is insistently hard against his arse and Zolf moves himself down, fussing with the ties over his cock until he’s exposed too, Oscar’s cock hot against his own.

They move together, heedless of the bloody corpse on the floor of Zolf’s cabin, rocking and gasping and holding each other so close that it becomes hard to tell where the line separating them begins and ends. Zolf loses himself in the sensation, the connection, the certainty that Oscar will never be at risk again, that he will never let it happen again. Oscar moans and presses up into him and he pretends not to notice the wet stream of tears against his fingers. There will be time for reflection later, now is about affirmation.

It’s not long until he feels Oscar pulse and cry out and he follows quickly after, gasping into the side of the man’s throat. After a moment, Oscar sighs, clicking his fingers and clearing them both of blood and spend.

“How does one dispose of a body these days?” Oscar murmurs after a while, hand stroking over Zolf’s hair. “I confess I’m a little out of practice.”

Zolf snorts, some sort of dark humour taking him over at Oscar’s choice of pillowtalk. “We’ll find a way. There’s a whole ocean full of sharks to feed.”

***

Sasha rocks up with Grizzop in tow as they’re dragging the body out of the room. The ship is gently rocking with the rising tide and the air is cold and pleasant, the sunlight still the soft glow of early morning.

Sasha freezes when she makes it up on deck and sees what they’re doing. Wilde gives her a jaunty wave.

“Morning, Sasha, Grizzop!”

“Wotcher.” Grizzop says, staring at the streaks of blood across the deck.

“Alright then,” Sasha puts her hands on her hips, “knew you two were into some kinky shit, didn’t think this was part of that.”

Oscar cackles, a full body thing that leaves him reeling and gasping for breath. “Oh, no, no, just a bit of an unwelcome guest, I’m afraid.”

Zolf kicks the body with a heavy foot. “Dead now, anyway.”

“Right…” Grizzop stares at the body and then back at Zolf and Oscar.

“Just a run of the mill assassination attempt.” Oscar assures him.

Sasha rubs at her temples. “Right, it is too early in the morning for this, even for me.” She sighs, performative and heavy.

“What are we doing with him?”

Zolf gestures to a large cloth bag. “Puttin’ him in that and dumpin’ him out in shark waters.”

Sasha nods once and then starts helping them drag the body into the bag and beside the railing in an area that’s well out of the way. Zolf kneels next to it and places a hand on one of the ankles, bowing his head and muttering a few words.

Oscar tilts his head.

“Won’t stink up the place this way.” Oscar offers him a hand as he gets to his feet. “Fresher meat for the sharks, too.”

Zolf doesn’t let go of his hand, instead rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.

Grizzop shuffles closer to Sasha. “Do you need help with anything or…?”

Oscar shares a look with Zolf. Help might very well prove to be useful, but not now. They need to talk first. He shakes his head. “Just, stay close by, if you’re amenable?”

“Yeah, you got it, mate.” Sasha flashes him a smile, and there is something extra there, something dangerous and almost _protective_.

She scuttles up the rigging to the crow’s nest, Grizzop following behind her. He’s never actually seen her doing it before, but she does it smoothly, confidently, as if she’s just climbing up a ladder. Grizzop makes it look like a simple affair as well, but not quite as thoroughly as Sasha does.

Zolf tugs him back to his cabin and Oscar goes. There’s perhaps not a place in existence he’s not willing to follow Zolf to. The force of the realization pushes all the air out of his lungs in a rush. It’s loud enough for Zolf to notice and he sits him down on the bed and steps in between his thighs, which readily spread to accommodate him, and cradles his face in both hands.

“Are you okay?”

Oscar wraps a hand around one of Zolf’s wrists and leans his face heavily into one of his hands, rubbing against the callouses, drinking in the concern in Zolf’s eyes.

“Yes, yes I am.”

Zolf smiles softly at him and he tilts his chin up, a wordless request for a kiss that Zolf fulfills instantly. The kiss is soft, warm, and sweet. A gentle press and movement of lips against lips and they melt into an embrace when they part.

“There will be others.” Oscar whispers into the space between them. “If Dorian found me, there will be others coming.”

For the first time since boarding Zolf’s ship, the reality of his situation is catching up to him. His bottom lip begins to wobble and he squeezes his eyes shut against the tears, but they spill regardless. The idea of finding something as precious to him as Zolf, of having this safety corrupted, of finding this and having it ripped away from him, terrifies him more than any of the horrible experiences he’s endured ever has.

Zolf swipes at the tears as they fall with both thumbs and Oscar laughs weakly, still not immune to the softness he’s continually shown. Zolf holds him through the worst of the sobs that rack him, stroking his hair and letting him blubber into his shirt _and when was the last time he cried in front of anyone?_ He clings to Zolf, fingers scrabbling for purchase in his thick jacket, holding on to him like if he lets go _even for a second_ all of this could be gone. He’s been adrift for so long, floating, sure that just around the corner, just over the next wave are the waters that will finally drown him, and he’d been dedicated to doing his best to avoid that, swimming as hard as he could, but he’d never really cared about what happened to him. He was indifferent to his own fate. But not anymore. He’s seen the life he can have and it will have to be pried from him out of his cold, dead fingers.

He calms eventually. The flow of tears slows, but does not stop. Zolf places a palm against his brand, forehead tipped to his.

“This needs to go.”

Oscar nods and finds his voice. “As soon as possible.”

Zolf pulls back a fraction, his hand tensing over the brand. “I think I’m going to need to get a closer look at it - I’m not quite sure what’s going to work, but I do know it’s gonna hurt.”

Oscar laughs bitterly. “Fitting.” He says, grimacing. “It hurt like nothing before ever had to get it, fitting it would have to hurt just as much to get rid of it.”

Zolf’s eyes darken. Several expressions flit across his face, pain, anger, confusion, before it settles into a sort of soft resolve and determination.

“I don’t want to wait.” Oscar whispers. He wants it off his body. He doesn’t care if hurts ten times more than anything ever has.

“Lie down.” Zolf tips his forehead gently into his, nudging him to lie flat on the bed. “Now, granted, never done this before, but I should be able to burn it away with my magic, like forcefully drawing out a poison. And I don’t think I can get rid of the scarring completely, think it’s just gonna be a big ole scar of burnt something when we’re done.”

Oscar nods, lip caught between his teeth as Zolf lifts the hem of his shirt up and tugs the waist of his trousers down, exposing the mark.

“Need to heal it, need to be able to see it to make sure.”

Oscar smiles and cranes his neck to get a good glimpse of the mottled purple and blue patchwork of bruises covering his hip. Some of the older bruises are starting to gray and yellow and the whole thing looks like artwork.

“Darling, do you have any idea how much one would pay to get so many beautiful colours on their skin?”

Zolf snorts and rubs a thumb over his hip bone, eyes fixed on his face. He raises his hand, flat, palm up, the way he does when he’s about to heal, and hesitates, waiting for Oscar’s go-ahead.

Oscar nods a bit sad when he feels the warm flood of Zolf’s healing, sad at the loss of his marks, his bruises, the love notes Zolf has written into his flesh. Zolf holds his hand there after the bruises have been healed, glowing with a soft white light, face puzzled, trying to figure out what exactly the brand is, what it might take to remove it. After several long minutes of examination, Zolf finally pulls away.

“We’re going to need to distract you.” Zolf kneels on the bed next to him, carding a hand through his hair and Oscar pushes his head into it. “Your body needs to accept the magic, it’s like—” Zolf huffs, furrowing his brows, “It’s like I have to burn it out from the inside.”

Zolf bites his lip. “It’s going to hurt and it’s not going to be quick, but I think I have an idea.”

Oscar sits up and leans into Zolf’s side. “I’m all ears.”

“Let me show you what it will feel like, at the start.”

“Okay.” He unties his trousers, staring at Zolf for assurance and he nods. Oscar shucks his clothes and then leans back on his elbows. Zolf places a palm over the brand and for a moment there is nothing. And then there is a burning, a pricking like dozens of thick needles pushing from the inside out and only growing in intensity.

Oscar sucks in a breath and Zolf takes his hand away. “It’s just going to hurt more and more and I imagine the end will be unpleasant, and your body needs to accept it, you can’t push me out while I do it.”

Oscar bites his lip. “I can try my best.”

Zolf shakes his head and then looks to the floor, suddenly bashful. “Was thinking that if we, uhmm. If we were _together_ while I did it, it might help.”

“Oh.” _Oh._ The impression of the pain is still fresh in his memory and thinking about it in combination with the joy of having Zolf’s cock within him makes his mouth water.

“And I could wait, to push at the end until, you...you know.”

Oscar nods, biting his lip contemplating the reality of his situation. He trusts Zolf. Trusts Zolf to take care of him through this, trusts himself to make it through this. “Okay. Let us waste no more time.”

“There’s one more thing…” Zolf forces himself to meet his eyes, Oscar practically feels the effort it takes to drag his gaze up from the sheets. “I think, there’s a decent chance, the scar will be in the shape of my hand, and I can try to change that—if, if you wanted.”

A permanent outline of his love on his skin, over where the mark that has defined his life used to be? A constant reminder of this new life, this new love, this new _hope_ and happiness he’s found? He can’t think of anything he’d like more. A reminder of what his love was willing to do to keep him safe, to help him escape as completely as is possible.

“I have absolutely no problems with that, my love.” Oscar takes his hand and presses it to his mouth. “I love seeing your marks over it, obscuring the view of it, blotting it out of existence, I love the _possession_ of it, of feeling like I’m yours, that I can decide to be yours, that I have that freedom.” _There is freedom in submission, so much freedom in willfully and trustfully giving up control._

“I like being yours, if you’ll have me?”

Zolf smiles, eyes glassy and wet and it brings tears pricking back to the surface of his own eyes to see it.

“Just don’t want you to feel like you’re trading one brand of...of ownership for another.”

“I do find it attractive to think of you owning me, I will admit. But I know this is a shared experience to think of such things, a shared desire that we explore together in a partnership.”

Zolf bites his lip and looks away. Oscar reaches out and gently turns his head back to face him. “Every time I see it I will remember what you were willing to do for me, with me. I will see love where before I saw nothing but a life I’d chosen before I could have known what I was getting myself into, that brought me pain and suffering where now I have joy.”

Zolf nods and a tear finally spills over. “I want you. I want you to be mine.” He croaks out, voice thick with emotion. “I want to be yours, too.” His lip quivers as he says it and it makes something in Oscar’s chest crack open and at that moment he is absolutely certain he’s in love.

“Oh darling, I’d love nothing more.”

Zolf pulls him in for a kiss, wet and salty with their tears and desperate, sipping pulls from the other’s mouth, a collision of lips and teeth and tongues that know how to move in sync. Zolf wrenches himself away and tugs his coat off quickly followed by the rest of his clothing. Before taking Oscar’s face in both of his hands and kissing him deeply.

“We, we might want to gag you. It might help to have something to bite down on.”

“Yes. And my screams, especially in this moment are for no one else to hear except for you.”

Zolf scrambles to the drawer and pulls it out, sealing their mouths together again before fitting the gag between his lips.

“Okay?”

Oscar nods, still crying, still overcome with emotion.

“You can still click twice if you need to, okay?”

Oscar nods again, and clicks twice to show him he understands.

And then Zolf is upon him, hungry lips and teeth at his throat sucking bruise after bruise into it as he lays his hand over the brand and a white glow begins to emanate from it as the pain starts. His cock hardens immediately and he thrusts against Zolf, groaning around the gag, letting the friction mingle with the pain, letting the pleasure of his lover’s body transform it.

Zolf mouths down his collarbones, nipping marks that feel like promises over them, and down his stomach to his cock. He takes Oscar into his mouth as the pain increases and Oscar’s cry is muffled. His skin feels as though it might burst into flame.

Zolf grabs the vial of oil and uncorks it with his teeth and one hand, and with no other sensation for a moment the pain is almost too much. He whimpers with it and Zolf coos at him. “You’re doing so well Oscar, so, so well, I’m going to make it better.”

He uses his mouth to hold the vial upside down and messily coat his fingers before setting it aside and pressing one to Oscar’s hole, massaging and kneading and instantly the pain feels better. He moans and Zolf’s expression loosens.

“There we go love, that’s it.”

Zolf presses a finger into him and Oscar grinds his hips against it, needing it to ground him against the constant heat in his hip. Needing the pleasure of it to keep his body from resisting and fighting the way it wants to. Zolf presses another finger into him and finds his prostate just as the pain ratchets up once more and it _hurts_ , enough to inspire a fresh and rapid flow of tears, it hurts, but it hurts _so fucking good_.

Zolf stretches him with a third finger and then slicks himself up, lining himself up and pressing in with one long smooth thrust that punches the breath out of his lungs, that comes just in time as the white hot pain threatens to overwhelm him. It feels like something being ripped out of him, forced out with the burn of Zolf’s magic and tearing its way out of his body, like it can’t stand the healing touch of Zolf’s magic.

Oscar floats away from himself, head a haze of pain and pleasure, grounded only by Zolf’s cock buried within him and green eyes locked onto his. Oscar can’t keep track of the noises spilling from his mouth, but he is distantly aware that he’s drooling, chin covered in it. Zolf increases the speed of his hips and Oscar grinds feverishly against him.

He sobs as Zolf wraps a hand around his cock and the searing pain becomes more insistent, closer to the surface, feeling like it’s burning his skin from the bone outward, a hot blunt knife cutting jaggedly out.

“Almost done, we’re almost there Oscar. You’re amazing. Beautiful, amazing, so strong. We’re almost there.”

His orgasm builds and it is such a different feeling to any he’s had before, mingling with the pain to create something roiling and frenetic, a whirlpool the likes of which he’s never seen.

Zolf growls, eyes fierce and boring into Oscar’s. “You don’t belong to them, you’re not theirs anymore. You’re mine, because you want to be. You’re mine. You belong to me, you belong with me.”

It starts to overcome him and he screams around his gag, sobbing with his vision starting to darken at the edges and the crest of his orgasm ripping through him is enough to get him through the last of the brand’s magic being ripped from his essence. He hears Zolf calling to him, from somewhere far away, he sounds worried and Oscar tries to open his mouth to reassure him but is confused to find he can’t, and then he can hear nothing at all, and all is still and calm and black.

***

Zolf waits.

He waits impatiently, because he’s never been good at keeping his head when the people he lo— _cares for_ are in danger. He scoffs at himself and his scattered thoughts, pushing down on his knees and getting to his feet. The room is too small for pacing, but he manages it anyway.

He’s not sure _why_ he’s so scared of admitting his feelings, now. He’s already half done it, and Oscar’s done more than reciprocate. The man bears a burned mark of his _hand_ for pity’s sake. But in the safety of his own cowardly head with all of his fear and his worries, he can start to entertain his second thoughts.

He can’t deny their connection now. The trust of it, the affection behind it. A whispering, irritable part of his mind says that it’s only because he rescued Oscar that this has even come to pass. And while it’s hard to deny, in reality Zolf knows that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Whatever brought them together simply crossed their paths. It didn’t force them into bed. It didn’t make his heart do a little leap every time he sees Oscar smile. It didn’t make Oscar lay down and welcome Zolf over and into his body in so many different lovely ways.

And now Oscar wears his handprint.

Zolf sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He keeps darting little looks at it. The burn is still red around the edges but seems otherwise healed, as if it was placed there months ago and has just been irritated by Oscar’s nails. There’ll be no aftercare needed on it, save for perhaps a regular application of salves to keep the skin supple.

He wants to walk and place his hand to it. To test its size. To confirm that it’s _his_ mark.

He doesn’t.

Instead he hums distractedly, casting a quick spell to detect magic. It glows from a few spots around the room, including some of the oils they brought from Aphrodite’s Treasure, but there’s nothing coming from Oscar, nothing coming from his hip. He moves in, just to check, to see if there’s any hint of the swirling golden magic. There isn’t. Oscar’s cleansed of whatever horrible connection he had. Once they leave port, he’s safe. Until then… well, Sasha’s always enjoyed a little justifiable homicide.

He sits down again, this time on the edge of the bed. Oscar’s thigh nudges up against his and he smiles at the warmth of the man’s skin through a few layers of cloth. He looks peaceful, really. As restful as someone unwillingly unconscious can be. Zolf forces down the instinctive need to shake him, just a little. To see if he’s close to waking up.

He reaches out instead for one of his novels. He steadfastly ignores the lingering redness of his palm as it wraps around a random cover, the faint outline of a dragon that he’s already started to heal away. There’s no magic there either, and it seems to be willing to fade away without too much protest, which is good. A random magical kickback in response to his intense application of faith, which seems like a small price to pay for Oscar’s freedom. Still, it’s not a reminder he wants to carry for long, for either of their sakes.

Glancing down at the cover of the book he snatched up, he smiles at finding himself with _Stoking the Fires of Love_. Fitting, given that the third in this series still sits in the bedroom that Oscar’s not been in for days now. He skips ahead to his favourite part, laying the book flat in his lap and beginning to read outloud.

He manages to get several chapters in, through one of the sauciest in the book even, and Wilde finally stirs when he pauses to stretch his legs and rest his voice. Of course. Zolf smiles softly, looking over at the man as he stretches and then winces, hand flying to his hip and hovering over the soreness of his burn.

“Zolf?” He breathes, urgent and anxious, eyes darting around.

“M’here, it’s okay.” Zolf responds, moving back to the bed and catching up Oscar’s hand. “You scared me.” He admits, the words falling out of him without thought.

“I wasn’t…” Oscar frowns, looking out the window and blinking at the sunset patterns on what they can see of the horizon. “ _How long_ was I out?”

“Long enough.” Zolf says. “How do you feel?”

Oscar stretches, arching his back and smiling at the pop of vertebrae. “Remarkably well. Like there’s a weight off my shoulders.” He pauses, then shoves at the sheets, pushing them down his body until he can see his hip. “ _Oh_.”

Zolf forces down the wobble of nerves in his gut, waiting to see what Oscar’s true reaction is before he stumbles into a poorly worded apology. He guesses that’s personal growth, or some such shit. His patience is rewarded when Oscar chews at his lips, ineffectually hiding a grin. Oscar’s eyes sparkle as he pulls on their joined hands, and brings Zolf’s palm to rest over the mark.

“Oh my.” Oscar hums. “Look how well that matches.”

Zolf scoffs. “Wonder why.”

“What _luck_ that I ended up in the bed of the dwarf whose hand matches my mysterious brand. Truly, we are meant to be.”

He can’t resist the urge to lean in and kiss away that stupid pleased smug smile, feeling Oscar whine softly into his mouth. It’s such a relief to have him awake and in one piece, unhurt and unaffected by them breaking the unwanted bond. Zolf nips at Oscar’s lips, feels the warm swipe of his tongue and moves into it, searching for another one of his pretty pretty moans.

When he needs to breathe he doesn’t go far, tucking his face into the curve of Oscar’s throat. Oscar’s arms come around him and he inhales deeply, the lingering scent of whatever feigned cologne his lover wore earlier filling his senses with familiar warmth.

“M’so relieved.” He breathes into Oscar’s skin, quiet enough that it’s almost stifled. “Didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t know if—.”

“It _did_ work, love. That’s all that matters.”

Love. That word again. Zolf pushes up and Oscar lets him go, hands settling gentle at the base of his spine as Zolf folds his forearms across the top of Oscar’s chest.

He sure as hell doesn’t know what brought them here. He has no earthly idea if he’s going to regret this. But he’s sure that the risk is worth it. Anything is worth it, to keep this man his.

“Oscar.” He says, soft and sure. “I love you.”

It’s the most serious Zolf’s ever seen Oscar, as he swallows, blinks and then… smiles, small at first, a little tickle at the corners of his mouth and then something broader, more open, more honest. More _pleased_.

“I love you too, Zolf.”

Zolf kisses Oscar again, because he’s _never_ felt like this, never once, and the laughing, gasping kiss that Oscar gives him fills his entire body with light. He wants never to leave this moment, this embrace, never to have to do anything other than kiss Oscar Wilde, feel the man’s body shift and give beneath him, accepting, adjusting, encouraging.

“Oh darling, as lovely as this is.” Oscar says, lips slick and brushing against his. “And _believe_ me when I say that while I could genuinely stay here all day, I’m not sure my body is up for anything more right now and you sat on top of me is making it very hard for my mind to maintain that assertion.”

Zolf chuckles, pushing up and smoothing his hands down the exposed skin of Oscar’s chest. “M’glad you can be honest with me. That’s good.”

Oscar groans. “Don’t say it like that. I’m already ashamed. You don’t have to be proud of me for turning down your cock in me.”

Zolf laughs properly this time, leaning in and kissing Oscar’s forehead. “I’m gonna go see if I can scavenge up some clothing for you from the stores, something soft that won’t irritate that burn.” Zolf watches Oscar’s face twist as he tries to hide his concern and cups his cheek gently. “I’ll get someone to guard the door before I shut it. Cover yourself up yeah? No one else gets to see you like this.”

Oscar gives a soft moan, teeth worrying his lip. “You’re awful.”

“But you love me.” Zolf retorts, pleasure bubbling in his chest at being assured when saying it.

“I _do_.” Oscar replies.

With another kiss to Oscar’s forehead Zolf gets to his feet and walks to the door, checking back to make sure that Oscar’s got the covers at least partially pulled up before he opens it. He steps out, looking down the length of the deck and then up, spotting two shadows still in the darkened crow’s nest.

“Sasha!” He shouts, watching as her head immediately pops up and a figure starts the quick (for her) climb down, followed swiftly by Grizzop too. He waits until they’re jogging over, quietly pleased by the concern on both their faces. It’s comforting to know they have more people on their side, especially now.

“What’s up Captain?”

“Need a couple of guards for Wilde while I go find him some proper clothes. Don’t say anything.” He watches as Sasha smiles, but chews at the inside of her cheek and Grizzop stifles a disbelieving laugh. “When I get back, think the four of us need to have a chat about what’s next.”

Grizzop darts around him and looks inside the room, Zolf just catching the end of a cheeky salute from Oscar as the man relaxes confidently into the pillows. “Yeah alright.” Grizzop says. “We’ll look after your boy, Zolf.”

He opens his mouth to comment, but sees the expectant look on Grizzop’s face and shuts it again, narrowing his eyes. He then walks away, hearing the goblin’s chuckles as he heads for the stairs below deck and fights down a smile of his own.

***

Zolf’s room has never felt stifling to him before, not compared to where he came from, what he’s suffered through since leaving his lovely London apartment behind.

But it’s not had four people in it before, and apparently that makes enough of a difference for his skin to start itching a bit. A response to all of the shit he’s suffered through to get here, he expects, but an irritant all the same. He hums, leaning his arm a little more solidly against Zolf’s as Zolf speaks, going through the necessary steps of laying out how they got here, what they know, and what they’ve done about it.

“No more brand?” Sasha asks, chewing on the side of her thumb. “Easy as that?”

“It wasn’t _easy_ Sasha.” Zolf says.

“Think of the worst pain you’ve ever felt.” Oscar cuts in with a cool smirk. “Think of how much it burned, _throbbed_ , the punishing mark of it. Multiply that by, oh, a factor of a thousand. Got that?” Sasha nods. “Good. That was about half of what I felt.”

Sasha whistles low as Grizzop kicks his foot into the floor, wincing himself. “Alright. Well, suppose it can’t be easy to get dragon claws out of your back. Glad you’re still with us Wilde.”

Oscar smiles, genuinely this time. “Likewise.”

“So you think there’s more coming?” Grizzop asks, ears flicking in anxious little motions. “How many?”

“I’ve no idea. Dorian was the worst they could have sent but they’ve got agents everywhere. Until we leave here, they’ll know where I was when the connection dropped.”

“So we’ll run interference. Stop anyone getting close to the ship.” Sasha says. “Easy enough.”

“Sasha I don’t doubt that you’re more than capable of dispatching any threat. Zolf clearly values you and I trust you, but they’re going to try every trick in the book and there’s only so much two people can do, even if those people are you and Grizzop.” Oscar sighs. “We need to plan for the eventuality that they get onto the ship regardless.”

Grizzop’s smile is dangerous. “Riiight. You’re telling me that Zolf’s gonna leave you alone? Ever again?”

It’s a fine point, given how protective he knows Zolf to be. If in future anyone gets within a mile of Oscar with bad intentions he reckons Zolf will enact some of that gorgeously righteous fury. But that would put him in danger, and that’s just not acceptable when they have so many alternatives at their disposal.

“Look. I don’t _want_ anyone to be at risk because of me, Grizzop. No one on this ship asked to be a target for Meritocratic revenge. So I’m gonna back up your extraordinary talents with a bit of my own.”

Sasha’s laugh is gentle, fond. It feels like teasing, and he finds he quite enjoys that. “What are you gonna do, sing at them?”

“I’d take offense at that if I didn’t know you better, Sasha.” He says. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that I’ve not had much cause to use recently.”

He outlines his idea to disguise the ship with a clever little illusion laced with a dose of suggestion magic, some powerful casting that he’s not had cause to use for some time. It’s a lot of magic all at once and he can already feel the thrill of it beneath his skin, begging to be let loose, begging to be used. He’s been too stifled for too long, trying to keep a low profile, and it’s twitching and building and _ready_.

He’s only partially discussed all of this with Zolf, and it’s quite something to see the look of stunned approval on his lover’s face at the extent of what his magic is capable of. He does so _love_ to impress people, especially those that he cares so very much about. It makes him feel all warm and tender right in his gut to see Zolf appraising him for talents beyond the carnal.

“They’ll see the ship, full of crew even if it’s not?” Sasha says, and he nods. “And when they get too close they’ll decide they’ve got somewhere else to be? That’s fucked up. You’re crazy powerful.”

“Thank you Sasha.”

“Ugh, don’t think you need to make his ego any bigger Sash.” Grizzop rocks back on his stool, balancing it perfectly on one of the three legs. “You good with this Zolf?”

Oscar glances across at Zolf, finding a still faintly stunned expression on his face. “Yeah, guess so. Sounds like I’m surplus to requirements for most of this.”

“Firstly, never.” Oscar says quickly, hand clutching up Zolf’s. “Secondly, I think you’ve earned a bit of a rest after all of the shit I brought to your ship, darling.”

“Yeah, what he said. Maybe you can actually _sleep_ Captain. Remember that?”

Zolf snorts, and it makes Oscar wonder about quite how bad his habits used to be, if Sasha’s able to joke about it. He’s been sleeping pretty regular hours, since Oscar ended up in his bed. But Oscar, capable of choosing his moments, decides not to mention that to two people who will _definitely_ not let Zolf forget it.

“Well? Sounds like you two have got some streets to patrol. How about you get on that.” Zolf says, knitting his fingers with Oscar’s. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a ship to get repaired in record time so that we can avoid any more Meritocratic incursions.”

“You know, it’s still not too late to reconsider.” Grizzop says, getting to his feet. “Could chuck him overboard. Bet he can’t swim.”

Zolf snickers, bringing Oscar’s hand to his mouth. “‘Fraid it is, Grizzop.” He says, and Oscar’s heart leaps into his throat. “‘Fraid it is.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the threats that come from being in port are done with, Oscar helps Zolf relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those chapters where we were sniping each other back and forth and you all benefit from it. Enjoy, darlings.

The days that follow Oscar’s assault are the slowest, most tense days that Zolf can remember in recent memory. Not even the approach to the ship that was unknowingly holding Oscar felt like this, because Zolf was able to _do_ something, to keep his crew fit and healthy, to ensure that they were able to be at their best for the fight to come.

Now all he can do is watch and direct and shake hands on deals that he’s having to rely on the others to set up.

And all he can think about is Oscar, Sasha and Grizzop.

They’re putting themselves on the line while he has to act to the world like nothing is wrong. It’s left him consistently tense and grumpy, and not even going into his cabin to check on Oscar is managing to take the edge off of that. Only a few days ago, any lingering irritation would fade away just by being in the man’s presence. Now though?

Zolf sighs.

If nothing else, he can now claim that the majority of the work on the ship is done, and with the order issued to the crew that shore leave ends tomorrow, Zolf dusts his hands off on his trousers and crosses the deck to his cabin. It’s time to check that Oscar’s holding up with maintaining the spell. He’s not slept for the past few days, though Zolf’s been maintaining his sanity with a few well-placed hits of cure fatigue. In truth, Oscar’s probably more well rested than he is at this point.

Zolf channels some energy into the man and watches the bags beneath his eyes start to fade, watches the line of his shoulders straighten again. Oscar smiles up at him from his position seated on the edge of the bed, tipping his head up hintingly.

“You sure it’s not going to distract you?”

“I really only need a small portion of my mind to maintain the illusion darling. I think I can enjoy a few kisses.”

He can’t believe there was ever a time that he went without getting to kiss Oscar’s smile away, to feel the man’s lips open beneath his own, to feel the hot swipe of an eager tongue against his. Zolf groans, cupping Oscar’s face and holding him still, swallowing his little sighs and feeling the warm flex of his palms as they stroke up and down Zolf’s back.

Oscar pulls back eventually, chewing at his kiss-reddened lower lip with a sly little look on his face.

“I had a thought.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Zolf pause.

“... Alright.”

“Oh darling.” Oscar laughs, squeezing his hips with those damnably long fingers. “I promise it’s nothing bad. You’re so suspicious.”

Zolf scoffs, using one hand to tug on the length of Oscar’s hair in retaliation. “You started it by _being_ so suspicious.”

“I am _not_.”

Zolf tries not to smile and fails utterly. “Sure. Sure whatever you say.”

Oscar pouts, pushing out his lower lip so far that Zolf is filled with the incredible urge to _bite_ it. “Oh you’re no _fun_ , love. It’s not fun if you give in before we’ve even got a rhythm going.”

“Oscar.” Zolf says, but he’s smiling now, his face settling into an expression that’s not a scowl with slow and accepting familiarity. “Just tell me.”

“You’ve been so tense lately…” Oscar says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And I know how much you hate putting yourself first. So I wondered if you might be prevailed upon to let me do it for you.”

He wants to protest. To say that Oscar has been through just as much, if not more than him lately. Oscar was the one left bleeding, the one left to keep them all safe. The one going without sleep to make sure there’s no risk. But he’s _tired_. And Oscar’s sensed that, tugging on the end of his will to protest and unravelling his resolve.

“What did you have in mind?”

Oscar grins, sliding his hands further around to cup Zolf’s arse. Fingers dance up and down over the seam of his trousers, probing between his cheeks as Oscar smiles broadly at the flutter of his eyelids.

“I thought you might let me take care of _you_ for a change.”

He’s not really considered it - though he’s not unfamiliar with being the one penetrated it’s definitely something he does _less_ often. He’s been so enraptured by the pleasure of Oscar’s submission that he’s not even thought about what it might be like to submit in return.

“What did you have in mind?”

Oscar’s smile widens and his eyes sparkle. He looks _thrilled_ that Zolf’s even asking. “Well, let me paint you a little picture.” He says, shifting and getting more comfortable. “I was thinking that we could really make an event of it. Start with a little plug in the morning before you go to your duties, then work you open on larger ones throughout the day. No one else will know, only us.”

Zolf groans, feeling a shiver chase down his spine. “M’not good at pretending.”

“Lies.” Oscar breathes, squeezing his arse a bit. “Lies and slander of the highest order love. Besides. You wouldn’t want everyone to _know_ , would you? That you’re slowly being opened up so that you can be fucked into the bed by me?”

He shudders, can’t help it, shifting as Oscar leans in to press lips to his ear. “Oscar…”

"You need to _relax_ , love." He says, all hot in Zolf's ear. "Let me play with your body. Let me conduct your pleasure. I promise, I'm quite the expert."

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Oscar says, sitting back and peering at him curiously. “You’re not just saying that are you? I won’t force you into anything love I couldn’t _stand_ to think you’re doing this just because I’ve ask—.”

“Oscar.” Zolf laughs, smoothing his thumbs over the man’s flushed cheeks. “I want it. I want to let you lead.”

Oscar’s smile flickers back into place, excited and tremulous “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He goes easily when Oscar pulls him in for a kiss that’s far hotter than before, teeth and tongues and Oscar’s filthiest groans that make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and the tips of his fingers itch with wanting to _touch_.

When Oscar wrenches away, breathless and cheeks stained with colour, he takes a moment to appreciate the way the fingers over his hips are biting into his skin in an effort to ground the man in front of him. Oscar’s eyes slowly open and he shoots a playful scowl at Zolf, letting his grip lessen just a little.

“You nearly got me.”

The intoxicating promise of the sea, the freedom that comes from being away from this place, makes Zolf’s stomach lurch. “Good. The sooner you can drop these illusions the better.”

“Someone’s impatient.” Oscar says, sly smile on his face. “Wonder why that might be.”

Zolf scoffs, taking a couple of steps back and feeling some of his composure come back. “Need to go check in with Sasha and Grizzop. Trusting you not to get into trouble when I’m gone.”

Oscar gestures widely at the room. “I’ll be here, love.”

Zolf pauses. It’s a moment too long to be natural and he’s giving over to his urges before he can think better of it, moving in and stealing himself one last kiss.

“I love you.” He says, lips brushing Oscar’s before he moves away once more, hearing Oscar’s laugh and response chase after him through the hastily shut door.

***

Maintaining the illusion is uneventful. Oscar has never liked just sitting around and waiting. He can tell Zolf is wearing holes into the deck with his pacing and he’s ready to do just about anything else when his alarm rings out in his head. It’s too soon for anyone else to be back yet and the alarm isn’t set to trigger for Sasha or Grizzop. He tenses, clenching and unclenching his fists and letting the spike of adrenaline snap him to an invigorated alertness. He stands and makes his way out of the room as quietly as possible. He whispers a message to Zolf, lets it float away on the wind as he creeps around the corner and down below decks. He climbs up the crates so he can peer through the grating in the deck above, looking carefully around. If the alarm had just tripped, they can’t have made it far. He doesn’t see anyone or anything moving around, but that means little. They could just as well be invisible. Oscar whispers this information and sends it on the wind to Zolf.

They’ve prepared for this. Sasha and Grizzop are good, but it would have been irresponsible not to have a contingency.

Zolf clears his throat loudly from somewhere above. The metallic thud of his footsteps grows louder as he walks across the deck closer to where Oscar is waiting and observing.

“Oi, Wilde. Come out here and give me a hand for a minute!” Zolf shouts in the opposite direction to where he knows Oscar is currently hidden. “Make yourself bloody useful for once.” He murmurs under his breath just as he reaches the edge of the grating and Oscar can make out the rugged worn leather of his boots. Oscar smiles, humming under his breath, releasing a cache of flour from up above in the rigging, sending it showering down across the deck like snow. Zolf pries the edge of the grating up with his glaive, allowing Oscar to shove it up enough to scramble out of it and stand next to him.

It becomes apparent that there are at least two figures on deck, one dusted in a generous amount of flour, the other less so, but leaving footprints in it as they try to shake it off and scuttle away. Oscar clicks his fingers and the more heavily floured assailant is held firmly in place, revealing a hooded figure with a dagger gripped firmly in one hand as the invisibility wears off. Zolf swings his glaive at the retreating footsteps in the flour, making enough contact to break their invisibility, revealing another hooded figure.

They grunt and swing their short sword at Zolf. Zolf parries it with his glaive before bringing it down with a _crunch_ and a wail on the figure’s collarbone. They sink to their knees, blood soaking through the fabric of their cloak. Oscar stalks toward the paralyzed figure, his own dagger in hand, slashing out with it as soon as he’s within reach, splitting their throat neatly open and releasing them to bleed out on the deck just as Zolf deals the final blow to the other would-be assassin.

They drag the bodies over to where Dorian’s body lay.

“More food for the sharks.” Zolf grunts.

Oscar studies the pile of crumpled bodies as Zolf casts gentle repose on them, ensuring they won’t bother anyone until they can fulfill their destiny of becoming shark food.

“We’re starting quite the collection of failed assassins.”

Zolf snorts and kicks one of the bodies. “Good riddance.”

“Mmm.” Oscar agrees, walking over to Zolf and tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear. “Have I told you yet how attractive the sight of you swinging your glaive around is?”

Pink rises to Zolf’s cheeks and Oscar smiles, taking Zolf’s face in his hand.

“You haven’t. Don’t think you’ve seen me with the glaive much, actually.’

Oscar steps closer, closing the distance between their bodies. “I think you should take to training shirtless in the morning sun.”

Zolf scoffs, pushing away slightly and producing a rag which he uses to wipe the blood off the end of Oscar’s dagger.

“Sasha’s dagger came in handy, then. She’ll be happy about that.” Zolf scoots close again, wrapping an arm around his waist and burying his face in Oscar’s stomach.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Oscar pets the top of his head, returning the embrace. “Me too.”

One of Zolf’s hands slides down to cup his ass and squeezes. “You’re not a bad sight with a knife in your hand.”

“Oh?” Oscar asks, lips quirking with delight. Zolf’s mouth opens but his response is cut off by the sight of Sasha flipping over the railing and landing gracefully on deck, a dagger in each hand, poised and ready. She’s closely followed by Grizzop, bow drawn and arrow nocked.

Sasha’s eyes flick back and forth from them to the bodies and the tension drains from her body.

“Well, see you took care of them, then. Got a little tied up and those two snuck by.”

Wilde gestures with her dagger. “Dealt with easily enough.”

Her eyes track the dagger. “You get any use out of it?”

Oscar nods and Sasha squints at one of the bodies. “Alright mate, nice one.”

Grizzop stalks around the deck, looking over the railing in all directions for any other signs of danger.

“Here,” Oscar says, offering the dagger back to Sasha.

“Nah, mate, you hang on to that, you might need it, you know?” She stiffens, rubbing the back of her neck and blushing slightly. Oscar fights back his smile. “Can never have too many knives.”

She doesn’t look at him as she retreats, joining Grizzop in making sure every threat has been dealt with.

There is a naked disbelief in Zolf’s eyes when Oscar meets them and he smiles, turning his new dagger this way and that, watching it glimmer in the sun.

“Knew Sasha liked you. Had no idea she liked you that much.” Zolf shakes his head and laughter bubbles up in Oscar’s chest.

***

Zolf’s crew starts to trickle back onto the ship over the course of the afternoon. His third mate and one of the bosuns come back with a couple of familiar looking pink bags. Zolf winks at them, earning a pair of cheeky grins for his efforts before they duck below deck to the crew quarters. His Quartermaster stalks up the gangplank a short time later, laden down by a few bags of loot from shore. Zolf gives him a friendly nod.

Those who have made it back begin on the preparations to leave port. The cook is already down in the galley preparing dinner for the evening and Zolf’s nerves are beginning to recede. He won’t feel completely at ease until they’re out on the open sea, miles separating them from the shore and anyone that might want to hurt Oscar. Sasha is up in the crow’s nest, keeping an eye out for any more unwanted guests.

Grizzop strides up to him. The bow on his back looks slightly out of place amongst all of the beings with rapiers and swords strapped to their hips strutting around with purpose. Grizzop rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Sasha said I might be able to catch a ride?”

Zolf smiles. He knows Grizzop well enough, but things between the two of them have always been a bit distant. He would like spending more time around him. He knows Sasha would.

“Of course.”

Grizzop nods once and shifts his weight again. “I like your boy, Zolf. And I’ve got a funny feeling you two might get yourself into some more trouble.” Grizzop stares past Zolf, towards shore and grimaces. “Also figured it might be a good idea to lay low for a while after doing a bunch of murders.”

Zolf raises one brow. “That is probably for the best.”

Zolf shuffles over and pats Grizzop awkwardly on the shoulder. Grizzop nods at him again and strides off, climbing up the rigging to join Sasha in her perch.

In a few hours, everyone is back on the ship. He scans everyone again running a mental roster in his head to make sure everyone is here and accounted for. He gives the order to weigh anchor and it feels like he’s just ordered the weight off of his shoulders. The sea breeze through his hair and beard do wonders for his nerves, easing them away with every inch of water that comes between him and shore. The sounds of his crew scurrying about, adjusting rigging and packing supplies away is a familiar comfort. Everything is as it should be.

The sun sets just as the shoreline disappears on the horizon and Oscar shyly sidles up to him from where he’s idly watching the current helmsman. Oscar always approaches cautiously when Zolf is on duty, like he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to intrude on this part of Zolf’s life. Zolf outstretches a hand towards him and Oscar steps forward to take it, lacing their fingers together and turning with him to gaze over the railing at the oranges and purples the last of the sunlight is casting upon the gentle roll of the waves. The orange light brings out the reds in Oscar’s hair.

They make themselves comfortable at the bow when the moon rises, the reflection of the setting sun long since replaced with the bright white light of the moon and the stars. Zolf sits with Oscar on his lap, drinking ale and bantering with Grizzop, the alcohol serving to loosen both of their tongues, the buffer of Sasha and Oscar making them fit together in ways they haven’t before. Oscar is a warm and heavy weight in his lap. Zolf keeps one arm curled protectively around him, letting the warmth he gets from his proximity suffuse through him to mix with the warmth of the alcohol and the warmth of being surrounded by friends. He’s not sure he’s ever been happier. Maybe once as a small child, hand in hand with his father and brother, being walked to the water’s edge on the shore, letting the waves lap at his feet, feeling the touch of the ocean for the first time. He remembers giggling as the cold water touched his feet, being lifted between his father and brother as the waves rushed past him, the squish of the wet sand under his feet and being swung into his father’s arms.

He swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, not bothering to put his mug down. Oscar looks at him curiously and Zolf smiles, tracing the gentle curve of his lips with his eyes, rubbing circles into his back. The memory is painful. Of course it is. Wounds heal but there’s no predicting how the scar will settle over the years. There are pieces of his soul there that he’s lost, that he’s not ever going to get back, but the happiness and love in it are more than enough to make the pain worth it. He pulls the body in his lap closer, cranes his neck to press a kiss to the base of his throat, inhaling deeply. There are things for which the pain is always worth it.

They walk into Zolf’s cabin hand in hand, undressing for bed with loopy grins. It’s a balmy night, Zolf isn’t planning on putting sleep clothes on. Oscar gets all his clothes off first, climbing under the covers and holding his arms out for Zolf to crawl into. Oscar nuzzles into his neck. Zolf takes the opportunity to brush his hands through his hair and press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’m exhausted.” Zolf groans, stretching and shifting in Oscar’s arms to get comfortable.

Oscar hums. “Me too. Best get a good night of sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.”

Zolf’s breath hitches, heartbeat quickening briefly before exhaustion overtakes him.

They wake with the first streams of light, on their sides, facing each other. Oscar licks his lips, eyes tracing greedily over Zolf’s before diving right in and kissing him hungrily.

“Morning, my love.” He says between kisses, flattening Zolf on his back and climbing astride him.

Zolf groans, still not fully conscious but body thrumming under Oscar’s clever hands. Oscar nips at his throat and Zolf’s cock stirs.

“You only have to work half the day today, I talked to Sasha about getting you some time off. Oh, and you have the whole day tomorrow as well, which you will most definitely need.” Oscar waggles his eyebrows at him and Zolf feels trepidation at the experience that awaits him.

Oscar’s mouth on him does wonders for the speed with which he fully wakes. He’s groaning and shifting his hips in no time, kissing and licking into Oscar’s mouth greedily. Oscar pushes him down with his palms flat against his chest.

“Are you ready, darling?”

Zolf nods, watching the bobbing of Oscar’s erection against his stomach.

“Safe word please.”

“Daffodil.” Zolf’s mouth is suddenly very dry, anticipation making him tremble a bit. He’s not sure he’s entirely prepared to be at the mercy of Oscar, but he’s ready nonetheless.

Oscar beams and then his hands seize the backs of both of Zolf’s thighs, pushing them up and spreading them simultaneously. Oscar nips up the back of one toward the curve of his arse and then does the same to the other before spreading his thighs wider, wide enough to expose his hole. Oscar smirks up at him, eyes flashing before burying his face in his cheeks, tongue lapping over his rim. Zolf groans, sucking in air, trying to cope with the novel sensation. Oscar flattens his tongue, stroking over it again and again until he feels himself opening and Oscar points his tongue to probe.

Oscar pops his head up. “Can you hold your thighs like this for me?”

Zolf nods and does so, holding his legs bent and spread open, letting Oscar spread him open with both hands as he spears him with his tongue. It feels good, Oscar’s tongue a focal point of sensation that slowly seeps through him, winding him up tight in the best way.

Oscar pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Go get the plug you want to start with and bring it to me. Bring the oil you’d like to use, too.”

Zolf gets up, feeling slick between the legs. He picks the smallest of the plugs and spends a moment deliberating on which oil to use. Oscar looks pleased with his choices.

“Good choice with the oil, darling. This one lasts a long time and should make things quite comfortable.”

Zolf blushes. He’s not sure _why_ that makes him blush, but it does. He hands the plug to Oscar and he twirls it in his long fingers.

“Tell me love, would you rather face me and look me in the eye as I open you up or would you rather take it with your ass in the air, face shoved into the pillows?”

The heat in Zolf’s cheeks flares. He knows instantly which option he wants, but saying it is another thing entirely. He clears his throat.

“Facing, uhm, facing you.”

“Oh, love, wonderful choice, I do so love your eyes.” Oscar pats the bed where he wants Zolf to lie down and settles himself with the plug and the bottle of oil between his legs. Oscar holds the bottle up, pulling the cork out slowly. Clearly he’s picked up on how much Zolf likes his hands and fingers. He pours oil onto two of his fingers, warming it before circling his hole. There is the press of one slender finger, a slight pressure, and then it is sinking inside, slow and delicious and novel. It’s been a long time since anyone’s fingers except his own have been within his body and the press of Oscar’s finger within him feels wonderful. Zolf huffs as it slides deeper. He lets out a little moan as Oscar begins to move it, thrusting a few times before pressing at him with a second finger. He finds Zolf’s prostate, giving it a few quick strokes before leaving it alone again, eyes alight with mischief, clearly aware of precisely what he’s doing. He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with the slick head of the toy, pressing it slowly into his body until the base of it is flush with his rim.

“There we are.” Oscar coos, eyes finally leaving his to stare at where the toy is nestled within him. “Get up and tell me if that’s comfortable?”

Zolf gets to his feet and finds he’s a bit unsteady. His stomach is smeared with liquid dripping from his cock, which is hard and pulsing. He walks to and fro in front of Oscar. The toy isn’t large enough to rub against his prostate or be anything but mildly distracting, and it is a pleasant sort of distraction.

“It’s fine.” He croaks.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Just fine? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Zolf. Don’t grin and bear it if it’s not enjoyable.”

Zolf forces himself to maintain eye contact, even while his cheeks flare with heat. “I like it.” He admits.

Oscar’s entire face lights up. “Oh wonderful. Good boy.”

Zolf shivers. He knows the effect that has on Oscar, but he’s never thought about it for himself. He likes it, and he’s sure it doesn't go unnoticed by Oscar. Oscar gathers up his clothing and watches him get dressed. When he’s about to walk out the door Oscar walks up to him, bending down and giving him a positively filthy kiss, all tongues and open mouths, reaching down between his cheeks to press at the base of the toy.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Captain.”

***

Oscar spends the hours Zolf is gone sat at Zolf’s desk, writing. Eventually, the door creaks open and Oscar smiles to himself. The next plug is already laid out on the bed, waiting.

“Take off your trousers and pants and get on the bed, on all fours.”

Zolf flushes and he covets it, licking his lips in an attempt to stifle the overwhelming urge to chase the flush down Zolf’s neck with his tongue. Zolf strips his bottom half quickly, efficiently and gets on the bed.

“Oh, look how beautiful you are.” Oscar gushes, stepping forward to grasp the base of the plug, twisting slightly and delighting in the grunt it earns him.

He grabs each of Zolf’s cheeks in one hand, enjoying the way the skin and fat bulges between his fingers when he squeezes. He spreads Zolf open, smiling wide at the small shifts of the toy. He grasps the base again and pulls it slowly out before sliding it slowly back in, teasing Zolf until he’s groaning and huffing, canting his hips towards Oscar. He pulls the plug out completely, watching the twitching of Zolf’s hole with great interest. Oscar lets him whine for a moment, occupying his hands with squeezing and kneading at his ass again.

“Zolf, my dear, you really have the most exquisite ass.”

Zolf chuckles and Oscar presses two slick fingers into the heat of Zolf’s body where he’s still slick and open, leaning over his back to whisper in his ear. “I am so looking forward to being buried in it later.”

Zolf groans at that, long and low. Oscar circles the rim of Zolf’s hole with a third finger before coaxing it in next to the others, feeling how easily it’s accepted, how willingly Zolf’s body takes him in. He settles his pelvis over one of Zolf’s hips, grinding against it as he wraps a hand loosely around Zolf’s thick cock, not giving him anywhere near enough friction to be satisfying as he strokes over his prostate. When Zolf is nice and relaxed, open enough to accommodate a fourth finger, Oscar slicks up the next plug and pushes it in. It’s larger than the first by a decent margin, more bulbous with a flared base. Zolf keens as it’s pushed in, panting slightly as it is seated fully within him.

Oscar pats his hip and pulls away. “You can get dressed now, darling.”

Zolf gets off the bed, staggering a bit as he adjusts to the new intrusion.

“No more than two hours.” Oscar tells him. “And if it’s ever uncomfortable, come back before then and tell me.”

Zolf nods. Oscar pats him once on the bottom and sends him on his way. Oscar lies on the bed once he’s gone, pointedly ignoring his throbbing erection.

Zolf is back precisely two hours later and Oscar lays him flat on the bed, pressing his wrists into the mattress on either side of his head and grinding their erections together, gasping into his mouth. “Gods I love seeing you like this. Knowing you’re plugged up, knowing you’re walking around on deck, letting everyone see you.”

Zolf moans and Oscar swallows it down, chasing it by sliding his tongue into his mouth.

“Are you ready?” Oscar asks, breathless with excitement as he deftly unfastens Zolf’s trousers and pushes them down before turning Zolf over onto his stomach. “Are you ready for just a bit more?”

Zolf huffs a sound that could be ‘yes’ but Oscar is not willing to settle for ambiguity. He fists a hand in Zolf’s hair and pulls his face up from where it’s buried in his arms. “What was that, Zolf?”

“Yes.” Zolf grits out, gnashing his teeth together as Oscar settles his cock between his cheeks, rubbing against the base of the toy. Oscar settles back on his heels, kneeling beside him. Zolf is beautiful like this. Face red and half hidden in the sheets and his arms, half undressed, body flushed, breath heaving, rim slick and stretched open. Oscar appraises him like the precious jewel he is as he slowly removes the toy from his love’s body. It’s warm, so warm from being nestled within him. The final toy in their little progression is the largest. It is both the widest and the longest and Oscar smears a generous amount of oil over it.

He makes certain Zolf is ready for it, sliding first three and then four fingers into his body, splaying them to gently stretch him, wanting the toy to settle as comfortably as possible. Zolf’s moan breaks off into a whimper as the toy is slid into him. It’s a gorgeous sound, one Wilde has yet to hear from Zolf’s lips and he hopes there will be more.

“Just think,” Oscar whispers, not wanting to miss any of the noises tumbling from his lover’s throat, “We won’t have to waste any time later. When I’m ready to fuck you I can just have you.” Zolf swears, nuzzling his face into the sheets as it grows ever redder. Oscar kisses one of the dimples on Zolf’s back, where his shirt is rucked up, as he pulls his pants and trousers up to cover his ass again.

“Feel okay, darling?”

“Gods, Oscar, yeah.” Oscar bites his lip, trying to school his smile as Zolf gets up, moving awkwardly, eyes fluttering every time he shifts and the plug rubs against his insides just so. “Fuck, yes.”

Oscar bends down to steal himself a filthy kiss. “Good. An hour, and then you’re mine. Same rules as before.”

And then Zolf is gone and Oscar flops onto the bed, stewing in his lust, the image of Zolf’s inked back and straining muscles imprinted in his mind.

Zolf’s face and neck are both red when he next enters the room, eyes wide and dark, teeth biting into his lower lip.

“Lay down darling.” Oscar murmurs, noting but not commenting on the way Zolf can’t help himself from shifting from foot to foot. If he were feeling particularly cruel he’d make Zolf sit, just to see the squirming eager discomfort. But Zolf right now looks a hair’s breadth away from bolting completely from this little game and he’s not going to make that any worse.

He watches from his position perched on Zolf’s desk, noting the wince as Zolf settles himself down on his front with a cautious eye. He doesn’t want to make him actively uncomfortable, but he also didn’t miss the nice thick line in the front of Zolf’s pants. There’s a balance, and it’s one he’s expert at working.

“Now darling.” He says, slowly reaching into the bag from Aphrodite’s Treasure and plucking up two of the bottles he checked the location of earlier, in a motion casual to anyone's view but his own. “I know you’re tense. No matter how spread open you are for me, I want to fuck you when you’re wrung out and lax, not fraught and strained.”

Zolf groans, hiding a smile in the back of his hands.

“So I’m going to show you just what these talented hands of mine are capable of.” He continues, warming the oils between his palms. “With Azu’s help, of course.”

He sets first the normal oil, then the… _enhanced_ bottle down beside one of the many candles he’s dotted around the room, making Zolf’s perfunctory cabin into their own little love nest. Without speaking, he sets to stripping off Zolf’s clothes, the dwarf helping as much as he’s able while still remaining flat out on the bed.

Once Zolf’s naked, Oscar groans, tracing greedy eyes all over him. He’s a work of art like this, even without factoring in the tattooed markings over his back and arms. Thick and muscled and soft in equal measure, Oscar’s fingers itch with the thought of getting to touch all of him. Nice as it is to be at the man’s mercy on a regular basis, he’s missed having this gentle power over someone. Looking at them and knowing that they’re all his for the evening.

“You can quit staring.” Zolf grumbles, what Oscar can see of his cheek’s coloured with a bright flush.

“Oh love. _Never_.”

He settles himself at the side of the bed, level with Zolf’s legs. It’s a balmy night on the ocean, so the goosebumps on his lover’s skin can only be from anticipation. Oscar smiles. Good.

Reaching out with both hands, Oscar smooths his palms over Zolf’s arse, squeezing enough to feel the give of fat and muscle beneath his hands, before he parts Zolf’s cheeks and stares hungrily at the base of the plug.

Spreading one hand over both cheeks, he uses the other to pull at the end of the flared base, smiling to himself as Zolf curses long and creatively. Zolf’s rim is red and stretched, but he doesn’t appear to be in any particular discomfort. Oscar can’t deny his mouth waters a bit with the thought of removing the plug completely and sinking inside Zolf’s body himself.

“Are you alright with me leaving this in? I’d like to, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Zolf is quiet for a moment, weighing the choice. “Sure. Sure, leave it.”

Oscar grins, leaning in to suck hard at the curve of Zolf’s ass, pressing the plug back in. “Oh that’s so what I hoped you’d say darling.”

He ignores Zolf’s grumbled moan in favour of sitting himself astride Zolf’s thighs, settling his weight down and humming to himself. He leans over and snatches up the first oil with a grin, rolling the glass between his palms as he drags his eyes over the tense line of Zolf’s back.

“Now darling, I won’t ask when the last time you had a massage was, because I suspect I won’t like the answer either way.” He says, unstoppering the bottle and pouring a nice swirl of oil along the lines of Zolf’s tattoos. “But I’m going to bet it’s been quite a while. So just relax and let me make it all better.”

The groan he earns when he slides his palms up and over the strong and worryingly solid muscle of Zolf’s back goes straight to his cock. It’s relieved and aroused all at once, making him shift and force himself not to rut into the rise of Zolf’s arse. It’s been quite some time since he’s worked on someone _this_ tense, and he soon slips into the mechanics of the act, forgetting his own arousal in favour of chasing each knot, each click, each angry little twist of muscle. He works down each of Zolf’s arms in turn, barely stopping to appreciate the pleasure of working at every inch of the man’s skin.

It's surprisingly less erotic than he expects. Zolf’s quiet, apart from slow and even breaths that show he knows how massage is _supposed_ to work, even if he’s avoided it for some time. Only when Oscar’s satisfied, hands warm and tingling, does he stop, lay his palms over Zolf’s scapulas and channel a soothing healing spell into the sore muscles.

Then he leans over Zolf’s back, the dwarf practically radiating heat, and snatches up the oil that Azu had assured them would spice up any massage just a treat.

Zolf moans as soon as it hits his skin, which is enough to make Oscar shudder. Potent stuff, apparently. He doesn’t add too much, Zolf’s skin already slick and smooth, and instead catches it up with quick fingertips, spreading it over the expanse of Zolf’s back with a faint groan.

“ _Gods_.” He murmurs, the word almost wrenched from his mouth. “This…”

“ _Fuck_.” Zolf groans. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”

Oscar laughs, feeling heat dance and twine up his hands, up his wrists, swirling around his forearms. If it feels this good just on his hands, he can’t _imagine_ what it’s like all over Zolf’s back.

He lets himself drop into the art of the tease more this time, encouraged by the lewd little sounds that Zolf keeps trying to stifle, and the bright arousal racing through his veins. He gropes as much of Zolf as he can, letting his hands smooth down and cup Zolf’s chest, fingers toying with the piercings and then dragging back up as Zolf grunts and thrusts into the bed. Zolf curses freely now, rocking his forehead back and forth, shifting into and away from Oscar’s hands in equal measure.

“Bastard.” He groans. “Tingles everywhere.”

“Darling that’s rather the point.”

Zolf swears loud, a heavy, dwarvish thing, and grinds harder into the bed, gasping and shivering and then—.

Oh.

Well.

Oscar gapes down at his lover, watching the heaving of his torso as Zolf drags in air in uneven breaths. “Did…” He mutters, disbelieving.

“Course I fucking did.” Zolf says. “You’ve had me plugged up all day and then touch me all over and use some sort of magic oil on me. Course I did.”

Oscar smiles, slow and lazy, leaning in to press his mouth to Zolf’s ear. He breathes, hot and hungry, watching the embarrassed heat recede from Zolf’s cheek. “The first of many, tonight.”

Zolf beneath him really is a delight, the thickness of his body between Oscar’s thighs, the warmth of his body, the faint hint of a smirk on his face.

“Is that a promise?”

Oscar grins, pecking his cheek and sitting back up, smoothing hands all the way down to Zolf’s arse.

“Oh, most assuredly.”

***

Zolf pants as he recovers. He’s still wound up, needy.

“Would you heal yourself for me? Make yourself nice and hard again for more pleasure?” Zolf nods shakily, closing his eyes and muttering, letting the healing energy course through him and moaning as his cock fills again.

“Wonderful.” Oscar coos.

The toys have felt good, stoking a heat within him that has steadily risen over the course of the day and the imitation isn’t enough anymore. He wants Oscar, wants his pretty cock. Oscar presses himself to Zolf’s back, the heat of him satisfying and maddening at once.

“Are you ready for me, my love?” Oscar asks, nipping along the shell of his ear.

“Been ready for you since this morning, you bastard.”

Oscar swats his ass and tugs at the base of the plug making him dip his head and curse. There is a pressure as the plug is pulled out of him, it increases as the plug flares and then he is empty and clenching around nothing. Oscar blows over his hole, making him twitch and shudder. He hears the bottle of oil being uncorked again, the slick slide of skin against skin as Oscar slicks himself up making his heart hammer in his chest. The head of Oscar’s cock pulses against him and Oscar drapes himself over Zolf’s back, a solid line of heat.

“I have been waiting for this all day.” He growls into Zolf’s ear. There’s no time for Zolf to process the thrill that runs through him at hearing Oscar’s voice dip low and rough like that before Oscar shoves into him in one fluid motion, finally granting him relief.

Zolf whines with how good it feels. He doesn’t think he’s ever made a sound quite like it before. Oscar’s cock is warmer than any of the toys and it pulses and Oscar pants against his ear, chest heaving against his back and this is better than he could have imagined. He is overwhelmed with sensation and overcome with need, thrusting his hips back against Oscar and keening.

“I won’t make you wait any longer sweetheart. You were so good, so patient waiting all day for me. I’ll give you what you need.”

Oscar drives into him. Zolf does his best to match every thrust, the motion and drag of skin against his walls so tantalizing after being plugged all day. Oscar’s fingers wrap around him and his orgasm builds quickly and explosively. He swears as he spurts over Oscar’s hand and onto the sheets, clenching around Oscar’s cock and moaning as Oscar spills within him.

Oscar gives him a few minutes to recover, lying next to him and catching his breath.

“Heal us?”

Zolf grasps Oscar’s hand and channels energy into them both. Oscar pushes him to lie flat on his back. “I want to ride you now, want your delicious cock in me. I’m going to bind your hands, you’re to lie there and watch as I fuck myself on you.”

Zolf holds obediently still as Oscar binds his wrists together over his head with a proficiency Zolf was previously unaware he had with knots. Oscar spends a moment gazing at his come dripping out of Zolf’s hole and tilts his head in consideration.

He grabs the largest of the plugs they’ve used today and bites his lip. “Can I plug you up? Keep all of my come in you to fuck out later?”

Zolf groans and nods, face heating with just how much he likes the idea of being plugged up with Oscar’s come. The plug slides into him easily and Zolf feels filthy with it. Oscar then straddles his stomach, fingers dripping with oil. Zolf watches as he presses one into himself and then another in quick succession, moving his hips against his hand in quick little thrusts. Oil drips out of him, down his wrist and onto Zolf’s stomach.

“Gods you make me mad with want.”

Oscar opens himself up quickly, working a third finger in himself and then lining himself up to sink down on Zolf’s cock. He pauses once the head of it is worked in. The tight heat of Oscar’s body is so wonderfully familiar now. He clenches around the plug as Oscar sinks down with a slow and steady determination.

It’s ages before Oscar moves again. Zolf’s hands twitch against their bindings, wanting to grab onto the man’s hips and fuck into him. Oscar swivels his hips slowly, closing his eyes and bringing both hands to tangle in his own hair, biting his lip and smiling, looking better than anyone has any right to.

“Lie back, sweetheart,” Oscar says. “Don’t move, let me do all the work, let me take care of everything.”

Zolf can do nothing but watch as Oscar spears himself on his cock, rocking back and forth leisurely, looking for all the world like nothing else has ever felt better. Oscar’s thighs flex around him as he begins to ride him, granting Zolf more friction, more sensation.

“You’re beautiful like this, darling, so relaxed, so wonderful for me.”

Oscar drags his hands down his neck, over his chest and nipples, touching himself the way Zolf wants to, the way Zolf has learned he likes to be touched.

“You feel so good, Zolf. So good.” He squeezes his eyes shut, brow wrinkling as he begins to ride him faster, tangling one hand in his hair and stroking himself with the other. He pants and clenches and mumbles a stream of nonsensical praise as he paints Zolf’s stomach and chest with his release. He doesn’t slow down, continuing to ride Zolf until he’s moaning with his own release, spilling into the heat of Oscar’s body.

Oscar climbs off of him and licks some of the spend off his stomach, smirking all the while. He swallows, grinning and then sticking his tongue out briefly.

“Mm, tingles still.”

Zolf laughs, letting his head fall back into the bed. This is ridiculous. This is utterly ridiculous. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this fucked out in his life and yet his cock is still valiantly twitching, knowing there’s more to come. Oscar isn’t finished with him yet.

He wonders if the peace that’s settling over the back of his skull is the same thing Oscar feels when submitting. It feels like a warm blanket, a sensation of safety, being adored so completely, down to his very marrow. Giving up his control to Oscar had filled him with a nervous anticipation that he didn’t know quite how to parse, but now?

Would he do this again?

He’s not even sure how to identify the swirling emotions in his gut. How to fathom feeling this way now, in future, at some nebulous time that he might want to indulge in this sort of gentle, supported submission.

“What’s on your mind darling?”

He flexes his fingers, staring at Oscar and wondering how much of his current mental state the man can read on his face. Wilde looks tender, affectionate. In love. With him. Zolf smiles, lifting his chin in an invitation that Oscar is quick to take up.

As they kiss, the faint taste of his own spend on Oscar’s tongue, Zolf feels himself melt back into that beautiful little space that Oscar’s introduced him to today. He’d do anything the man asked now, and be happy to. There’s no risk, and if he’s honest with himself it’s _that_ that appeals so very much. The safety. The acceptance. He’s never felt this way before.

“What do you think about one more time?” Oscar asks, lips brushing his with each word. “I’d love to have you ride me. I’d like to hold you. Feel your skin against mine as we rock together.”

Zolf nods. “Yes. Yeah. I’d like that.”

Oscar grins, reaching up and deftly unfastening the rope around his wrists. “Good, darling. Some more of that lovely healing energy, if you please?”

Zolf holds Oscar’s hand in his tight, channeling just enough energy, until he feels the thick hot line of Oscar’s cock against his thigh, feels his own cock stirring as if it’s not been completely wrung out.

“Magic is incredible.” Oscar breathes, fitting his hand around Zolf’s cock and pulling slowly. He looks hungry and enraptured, and it makes Zolf’s stomach do a dangerous swoop. He’s gone. He’s so gone.

He watches as Oscar shifts, using prestidigitation to create a mess of blankets on the floor before settling on his arse and staring up at the place where Zolf’s full and twitching. With careful hands, Oscar removes the plug, slow, so that every bump of it catches in a new and incredible way. The way Oscar’s tongue passes slowly over his lips tells Zolf everything he needs to know about how good he looks.

“Straddle me, love. Careful not to lose any of my come though, there’s a good boy.”

Zolf flushes, bringing his arms down and clenching around nothing as he shifts to his feet. Oscar takes himself in hand as Zolf kneels and lowers down slowly, cursing heavily at the overheated press of his cock. The healing magic has made him tighter again and Oscar’s cock feels impossibly big as it moves into him and Zolf flexes his fingers over Oscar’s shoulders, taking it slow, taking it so very slow.

“Gods.” Oscar murmurs. “I could watch myself disappear into you all day. Is this how it feels when you take me?”

Zolf smirks, taking Oscar’s face in his hands. “Yes. Every time.”

“No wonder you always look so pleased with yourself.” Oscar replies, leaning in for a kiss that melts into a messy, nipping thing when Zolf’s arse finally settles down against Oscar’s thighs.

“I love you.” Zolf breathes into the side of Oscar’s throat, tongue flicking out to catch up some of the sweat on his skin. “Gods.”

Oscar beams, shivering so nicely against him. “I love you too. Let me show you how much.”

It’s a slightly unfamiliar motion for him, unused to being the one on top, but Oscar guides him with hot hands and gentle palms against his arse. All too soon they’ve worked themselves into a rhythm that fills him with a sparkling heat that shoots up and down all his limbs. He feels like a being of pure heat and energy, riding his lover’s cock, swallowing Oscar’s sounds and grunts and arching at every deep thrust inside him.

“Gods, Zolf, _beautiful_.” Oscar gasps, the air between them heated with their panted and heaving breaths.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Oscar chants, undulating his hips, stealing the groans off Zolf’s lips before they leave his mouth. “Oh love, does it feel this impossibly good for you?”

Zolf whimpers again and nods as Oscar pulses within him. It feels wondrous, good the way being penetrated never has before, Oscar’s cock long and perfect inside of him, rubbing against his prostate unerringly. Oscar releases Zolf’s hips in favor of cradling his sweaty face in his hands. Zolf stares into his eyes, so dark as to be grey and swallowed by the black of his blown pupils. Oscar looks ruined, hair damp and dripping in places with sweat, mouth red and open. He seals their mouths together, gasping and huffing into the heat of it.

“Going to come in you again,” Oscar whispers against his lips. “Going to fill you up, and suck it out of you.”

“ _Fuck,_ Oscar.” Zolf tenses against him, clenching around him. The pleasure is peaking again, spurred on by the movement of Oscar’s hips and the words whispered into his mouth.

“Do you like that?” Oscar moves his hips faster, harder and Zolf squeezes his eyes shut, moaning. “Do you like knowing I’m going to spread you open and drink the evidence of my pleasure out of you? Knowing how depraved I am, how desperately I can’t get enough of you, fucking exquisite, beautiful creature.”

Zolf opens his eyes and Oscar’s eyes are manic and he looks a bit unhinged, driving into him with a determination, sweat dripping from his brow as he holds Zolf’s gaze with a heat he still can’t believe he inspires. Zolf fists both hands in Oscar’s damp hair as Oscar wraps a hand around his cock and wrenches an orgasm out of him. The pleasure wells up and spills over, washing over him in waves. He twitches on Oscar’s cock, in his grasp, held securely in place and moaning while he looks pleadingly into Oscar’s eyes. “Yes, love, oh beautiful, fucking _gorgeous_.”

Oscar thrusts into him twice more before spilling into him hot and deep. True to his word, Oscar gently lies Zolf down on his back, spreading him to watch his come dripping out of him. He looks up at Zolf, a hunger in his eyes that Zolf still doesn’t quite understand, but that makes his head swim regardless. Oscar plunges his tongue into him, kissing and sucking at his hole, lapping his own spend out of him and it feels deliriously good. He moans, oversensitive and blubbering nonsense, weakly thrusting into the press of Oscar’s tongue and lips. Oscar peers up from between his thighs, lips smeared with come, eyes dancing with a devilish light. “Would you like some?”

Zolf throws his head back against the floor. The idea of it is so downright _filthy_ and he shudders and nods before he even realizes he’s made up his mind. Oscar smirks impishly and sucks at his hole, crawling over Zolf with his lips pressed tightly closed before bringing their mouths together, slipping his own come into Zolf’s mouth on his tongue. Zolf is far, far too gone to even consider being embarrassed. He moans into Oscar’s mouth, moving their tongues together and swallowing the salty bitter taste of sex.

He is so utterly spent. He slumps into the floorboards, boneless and wrung out, shutting his eyes and drifting. He is faintly aware of the pass of a damp cloth over his stomach, cleaning up slick and spend and dipping between his legs to do the same.

Oscar kisses his forehead and murmurs, “Darling,” tempting him into opening his eyes. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Zolf does, and Oscar hooks an arm under his thighs, hauling Zolf into his arms and getting to his feet with no small amount of effort before setting him down on the bed and covering him with the blankets. Zolf drifts off again, brought back to consciousness by the press of a glass to his lips and Oscar’s hand at the back of his head, encouraging him to sit up and drink, which he does greedily, not realizing how thirsty he is until the first drops of water hit his throat. He drains one glass and then another before Oscar is satisfied and crawls into bed beside him. He slips easily into a deep and dreamless sleep, curling into the arms of his lover, more relaxed than he can ever recall being.

***

Oscar awakens the next morning with a sense of such bone-deep satisfaction that makes the fact that every part of him _aches_ a mere afterthought. He stretches his legs out, humming to himself at the flex of angry muscles, his thighs sore, his stomach muscles tender. It is beautiful, and with the sun high enough in the sky to shine through the window and onto the bed, he feels warm right through.

His arm is almost completely asleep though, just the barest of tingles in his fingers, and he looks down to see Zolf still absolutely dead to the world, fast asleep on his bicep. It fills his chest with a flush of adoration, first, and victory second. His sole intention was to make Zolf relax, and here Zolf is, still asleep long after sun-up. It might be his very greatest achievement to date.

Zolf looks, for the first time since Oscar’s known him, like he’s not carrying the world on his shoulders. The lines on his forehead are less deep, his mouth set into an upwards curve in sleep. Oscar wonders, for a breathless, giddy moment, what he might be dreaming of.

 _Gods_. He has never felt this way before.

Carefully, he shifts until his arm is free, moving a pillow under Zolf’s head and flexing his hand until some of the feeling comes back. Then, with a contented sigh, he turns to watch Zolf sleep all the better, knowing that the dwarf wouldn’t understand the appeal. He reaches out and uses a gentle touch to smooth the messy side of Zolf’s hair down and smiles.

They have no obligations today, nowhere to be, no one to please. Only once their hunger gets too great do they even need to leave their _bed_.

Oscar yawns, tucks in close to his lover, and allows the rocking of the ship to lull him into sleep once more.


End file.
